

### MY KINGDOM

### Michael F. Donoghue

Copyright © 2018 by Michael F Donoghue

Smashwords Edition  
(2nd Edition)  
ISBN 978-1-9994473-0-4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

Publisher's Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Michael F Donoghue/Smashwords Publishing

15951 Los Gatos Blvd., Ste 16

Los Gatos, CA 95032

www.smashwords.com

### Dedication

To the fathers that never were,

the sons and daughters never born.

To the virtue lost on the battlefield.

Nothing truly perishes

when we inherit the past.

And to my Uncle David,

No. 2723129

the Irish Guards

Acknowledgements

~

I would like to express my sincerest gratitude to my family for their patience and understanding. Without their interest and encouragement, I would not have been able see this project through to its end. To Steve, Rose, and Jennifer thank you for granting me so many gifts, especially the time to pursue my ambition. If you would allow me to encourage you with my father's words: 'You can accomplish anything if you set your mind to it.'

To my wife, Eve, I am and will be forever in your debt. With every word, coma, every sentence you were there. At every twist and turn you listened and offered your thoughts. You allowed me to nurture a new passion and were a true partner throughout the adventure. To 'My Eve,' our journey will be without end.

For additional encouragement from family and friends I offer my sincerest gratitude to Tom and Nancy, Maureen and Mike, Karen and Thomas, Angie Shaw, and Myrtle Seguin. Thank you to Claude Swolfs for making available his Belgian heritage. To Bob Gei, Lorne Sowden, Eric and Chris Hobson, Bruce and Sally Wilkinson thank you for offering your thoughts. They were invaluable.

A special thank you must be extended to the Royal Munster Fusiliers Association for their support. Especially Adrian Foley, Jean Prendergast, Tadhg Moloney, Hedley Malloch. To the RMFA I would attest: 'Remembrance itself could not be placed in better hands.'

My sincerest gratitude also goes out to:

James Sullivan for being the first to point me in the right direction.

Luwig Ries for his contribution both in pictures and words. My new friend, without your interest this story would be lacking in dimension.

All those at the Great War Forum who offered their input. You have unfortunately fallen victim to your best quality; your generous spirit. As a result, there are too many names to mention. Thank you for your responses to my posts. You have helped to nurture a naïve enlistee into a self-published author.

The Woodchester Mansion Trust, especially Marcus Gill.

Sister Mary from the Marist Order of London, England.

Barbara and Jack O'Connel of Schull Books, Ireland.

The members of the ChiswickW4.com web forum.

Thank you to my late father for his poetic contribution: 'The Racers.'

My editorial help: Maureen Jerrett, Adrian Foley, and Eve Donoghue, you have enhanced my story beyond any capability I could acquire. For that I am truly grateful.

### Contents

Author's Note

Chapter 1  
Chapter 2  
Chapter 3  
Chapter 4  
Chapter 5  
Chapter 6  
Chapter 7  
Chapter 8  
Chapter 9  
Chapter 10  
Chapter 11  
Chapter 12  
Chapter 13  
Chapter 14  
Chapter 15  
Chapter 16  
Chapter 17  
Chapter 18  
Chapter 19  
Chapter 20  
Chapter 21  
Chapter 22  
Chapter 23  
Chapter 24  
Chapter 25  
Chapter 26  
Chapter 27  
Chapter 28  
Chapter 29  
Chapter 30  
Chapter 31  
Chapter 32  
Chapter 33  
Chapter 34  
Chapter 35  
Chapter 36

Afterword

Author's note to the reader

~

A picture is said to be worth a thousand words. If that is true, is it also possible for a thousand pictures to be worthy of just one word? An answer, perhaps?

The question I asked was: "If I were to write a novel about your early life, would you prefer it come to a different conclusion, an alternate ending, so to speak, than the one you experienced?" The question came to me while interviewing my uncle. He had been providing details for my story. This particular answer was only one of many, of course, but when I heard it, I knew my story would turn on a single word.

I would have asked my father the same thing had he not died of cancer when I was a young man. I enjoyed listening to my uncle, while he refreshed stories I had heard before. Others I hadn't. I always knew my father and uncle were only boys when tragedy put them on a path beyond their control. I remember my father relating the outcome of those events. The lives of two young brothers were changed in ways I was left to imagine.

I should therefore mention that, while this novel is primarily a work of fiction, it is inspired by real people and real events. And although literary license was needed to accommodate my uncle's response, with certain exceptions, which I will explain in the 'Afterword,' the broader facts herein represent actual events. While many characters remain part of the historical record, others are imaginary, designed, I hope, to fulfill the expectations of an entertaining historical fiction. I also changed a small number of names.

My uncle provided valuable information pertaining to my grandfather as well, and I should add this story is as much about his life as it is my father's and uncle's. I unfortunately never met my grandfather. He died long before I was born. However, if I could meet him, if I could cross that vast expanse of distance and time, I would love to spend hours listening to the details of his eventful life, his service in the British Army, his time in India, his experience as a soldier in the Great War.

During one of our many phone calls my uncle related a conversation he had had with his aunt. "You'll never be as tough as your father was," she said to him. When I first heard those words I thought they were heartless, if not hurtful. Yet after uncovering much of what my grandfather lived through, I now appreciate the context in which they were spoken. And this she said to a Second World War Veteran, a tank driver who stayed in Germany with the Allies' Occupational Army long after the war ended.

Although my father went on to marry, raise a family and have successful career, my Uncle David remained a bachelor his whole life. I sometimes wonder if his scars ran much deeper than he was willing to admit. I learned some time ago that his regiment figured prominently in a well-known World War Two epic film. More on that in the 'Afterword' too.

In truth, I honestly can't say how closely my grandfather resembles the character I created in this novel. If anything, I believe he was an ordinary man, like so many others, who was undaunted by the call of extraordinary circumstances.

I could go on about what compelled me to write this story, from where I drew further inspiration, but maybe it's time I return to the question I posed to my Uncle David, the one where I asked him: 'Would you prefer a different ending to the story of your early life?'

Well, as you might have imagined, his answer was, of course, "Yes!"

### CHAPTER ONE

The summer of 1912  
India's North West Frontier

You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!

Though I've belted you and flayed you,

by the livin' Gawd that made you,

you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din

Rudyard Kipling

The crowded train slowed then squealed to another stop. Daniel felt the stiffness in his legs, and he considered getting up to stretch them. A breath of fresh air would do him well, however the thought of losing his seat tempered his discomfort. More passengers would soon board the car; it was already nearing capacity.

Daniel glanced at Sully, his mate beside him, and then cast his eyes over his fellow Munster Fusiliers. It was obvious the heat was hard on the Irish. Perspiration stained everyone and everything. But as stifling as their car was, Daniel knew there was no point in trying to open the window. The Sindh would not abide that. What rides on a desert wind will find its way into the smallest of crevices.

Having entrained from Karachi after a three-week sea voyage, it was assumed the rest of their journey would be filled with simple pleasures, the sheer delight of placing one's feet on solid ground being the first on everyone's mind. Still, Sully's spirit was the first to digress. On the second day he likened their rail car to a metal oven on wheels. Daniel agreed, reluctantly, knowing his friend's usual enthusiasm could only be tempered by words not far from the truth. Daniel, on the other hand, had learned a British soldier should entertain no illusion and, therefore, few expectations.

Sully looked at Daniel and shook his head. Passengers were boarding yet again, this time from both sides. Some reconciled themselves to the coach's exterior running boards, while others climbed higher. Sully's worried eyes were drawn to the back of the car, while Daniel's rose toward the footsteps on the roof.

The enclosure creaked under humanity's burden, as the rear door was flung open. "Ah," Sully stammered. "We're full in here." To Sully's dismay, however, his words fell on deaf ears; a rush of local villagers poured in.

Sully's tone worsened with the bump of each additional passenger. "I'm sure... there will be... another train along very shortly," he said, as if he knew he was being ignored. Beside Daniel, Sully sat next to aisle, more exposed to the onslaught.

Having grown up in London, Daniel and Sully were accustomed to the omnipresence of humanity. In all of its hurriedness, they were familiar, but this was something on a different scale. Every market needs its buyers and sellers, its farmers and artisans, wanting to barter their wares, but here, it seemed, everyone had a reason to be on the move.

The center aisle was a bustle of overcrowding, but as quickly as Sully's demeanor was deflated by the press of his fellow passengers, so was it reinvigorated by the sight of a beautiful young woman moving among them. Dressed in a white shalwar kameez, her hooded face shone like a gem indifferent to its tumbling through a polishing stream. Sully's thoughts were as richly embroidered as was her robe. His heart suddenly leapt when, in passing, she smiled. Watching as she moved to the other end of the car, Sully was instantly enchanted.

Daniel looked at Sully and smirked. He was amazed how quickly his friend could be smitten.

"The women are so attractive in this part of the world," Sully mused.

The North-West Frontier was, in its own way, a splendor of both beauty and ruggedness. It extended, Daniel discovered, from the city of Karachi and the Arabian Sea in the south, through the Sindh Desert to the mountain ranges of the north. Their reward for enduring the three-day train ride: the magnificent snow covered peaks of the Hindu Kush and their elder, the Himalayas.

Daniel glanced between Sully and the face to which his friend was now mesmerized. She was indeed compelling, but as the train got underway, her exchanges befitted a more modest disposition. She cast a timid glance at Sully. This drew him in even further.

Not taking his eyes of her, Sully soon caught a glimpse of the woman lowering her hood. Her dark silk-like hair was allowed to descend down her back. "I could live the rest of my life with a woman like that," he said.

The train rocked side to side, causing its occupants to move as one.

"The rest of your life is a long time, my friend."

Suddenly a horrible memory caused Sully's trance to come to a screeching halt. He could see his mother berating his father, the way she incessantly did. He remembered his vow to remain uncommitted, if necessary, forever unmarried. The risk of enduring what his father did seemed all too daunting.

"Frightfully," he agreed.

"There's a good woman for you out there somewhere, Sully, just as there was for me."

Daniel pulled a picture from his left breast pocket just as Sully recoiled. "Oh no," he gasped.

"What now?"

"That blasted McCarthy is pretending to be a gentleman. He's giving up his seat to her."

Daniel smiled. "Why do you torture yourself?"

"I can't help it, mate," Sully said, returning his friend's gesture in kind. He glanced down at the picture in Daniel's hand. "And you're lecturing me about love at first sight."

The wrinkled photograph of Mary captivated Daniel's attention, as it always did, for an imperceptible period of time. Her long black hair framed such a beautiful face. He could still remember the first day her soul unveiling eyes peered into his, illuminating the best of him in return. But it was her laughter that Daniel always replayed in his mind. Its essence defined her charm. She was so beautiful, so compelling, and he missed her more than he was willing to admit, even to his best mate.

Sully laid his head back and tried to take his mind off his most recent infatuation. Although he was somewhat successful at his endeavor, his friend was not.

Daniel straightened himself into a frustrated posture. How am I going to get through this? he thought. The rhythm of clicking rails accompanied every waking thought and fitful rest. Like a native mountain snow leopard, the approach of despair lurked just beyond the limit of his defenses. Images he longed to relive ran through his head. Scenes of Mary laughing while Steve played with his newborn brother caused Daniel's head to slump forward, a little further than one's should.

Sully opened his eyes. "Everything alright, Danny?"

Bearing the khaki uniform of the same regiment since the beginning, James Sullivan's military career paralleled Daniel's at every turn. The only exception? Each of them seemed be in timely possession of a resolution to any disadvantage experienced by the other.

"Ah!" Daniel sighed, as he looked out the train window. Seated closely, Daniel and Sullivan continued to bump shoulders while the train travelled the rickety track. The line, which sometimes scribed an otherwise monotonous landscape, followed the Indus River. At one time Daniel coveted this posting, as many young soldiers did. He found it excitingly exotic, before he met Mary.

Daniel looked down again as if consolation existed somewhere below him. "I'll be all right once we get there."

"You'll be fine, Danny," James started. His tone was intended to be uplifting. "Why, I'd take marching any day over this oversized coffin." He glanced to see if he was getting Daniel's attention. "I say, they call this a railroad? Why, I've seen better," he stopped abruptly and did a double take towards Daniel.

"What?" he said. A reflection of Sully's smile was beginning to dawn Daniel's face.

"I was just trying to take your mind off..."

"Thanks just the same, mate," Daniel interjected.

Daniel then put his head back against his seat and closed his eyes.

"You're a good friend Sully," he said.

"As are you, my friend, as are you!" Sully ran his fingers over his light colored moustache, and then glanced passed the soldier in front of him, trying to get another glimpse of the woman. He then straightened his short blonde hair, hoping she would look back. Sully was a handsome man, even more so than Daniel. And being closer to five-foot nine than ten, he was for once happy to have shorter legs than Daniel. He slid himself forward until his knees touched the seat ahead. He slouched a little and closed his eyes.

With the adventure already testing the limits of his endurance, Daniel took a few moments to quiet his mind. He tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere, on a memory from long ago. Then, as Daniel finally found some solace in sleep, his mind gravitated backward in time. Into the past, it travelled, until it found a lesson that punctuated his challenging youth.

~ ~ ~

"Everything your 'eart, mind and soul requires boys... you can find within you!

Even during your most challenging moments," Father Benoit continued, during his class at London's St. Mary's Orphanage. "I would like you to always remember what 'as served me so well over the years."

"Seek and ye shall find," Father repeated, in his Belgian-French accent. "Seek and ye shall find. I am sure you 'ave 'eard that one before."

Compulsively, he pushed his thick framed spectacles to the top of his nose before pacing over the rooms creaking floorboards. In North-Hyde, London, the old converted Napoleonic era barracks were originally built to protect a canal-side gunpowder depot. More recently, it had been forced to house as many as six to seven-hundred boys.

"But, find what?" he asked, before turning to engage his young class. "What did He mean?"

Father paused for a moment. "Does anyone 'ave an answer?" He looked intently back and forth from the front of his class. "Can someone tell me who or what we are seeking? Or where we can find it?"

He paused briefly. Disappointment began to fill the void left by the absence of any answer.

"Surely someone 'as been paying attention," a flustered Father suggested.

A brief silence further tested the young priest. Yet, only after his composure was fully tested, and the answer to his question had been forced to the tip of his tongue, his hopes were rewarded with the show of a hand.

"Daniel!" Father shouted, pointing to the only boy willing to reward his patience.

"Daniel," he heard his name called again.

"Daniel. Wake up. We're here," Sully announced. He smiled at his friend after jostling him from a deep sleep.

As the brakes began to slow the train, the sound of squealing metal pierced Daniel's ears. Squinting, he looked out his small window. His eyes finally glimpsed what he had imagined for so long: Nowshera, on India's North-West Frontier, his new home for the next two years.

On the Kabul River, Nowshera was just east of the Khyber Pass and the Afghanistan border. Daniel's journey into the 'Raj', or British rule of India, was a pilgrimage into the mystique that had become the essence of British military life and customs abroad. Columns of British regiments alongside Indian army sepoys fought to maintain a colonial presence in some of the world's most beautiful, challenging and historic lands. Elephants and camels would accompany Daniel's battalion, as they marched forth under the distant shadow of ancient legions. When he finally stepped off the train, the ground beneath his very feet still echoed with the tremors of Alexander the Great and his armies.

Having left his family far behind in England, Daniel arrived in India in the summer of 1912 with an enthusiasm thinly armoring his innermost feelings. He quickly found, however, that immersing himself in a soldier's daily routine was the best way to both honor the commitment of his regiment and distract himself from thoughts of home.

Though Daniel was the type of man who preferred an explanation over accepting things at face value, he learned a soldier's duty early on. Follow orders without question. For some men though, simplicity is never completely devoid of complexity. For in this principle is found the vantage point from which most moral ambiguity can be viewed. Whether a thin veil of convenience or opportunistic cover to be exploited, Daniel discovered for himself, a young soldier often enlists with a degree of naivety, a perspective that frequently becomes the first victim of his military career.

As time passed, Daniel found the social structure or Caste system in India a constant reminder of the frustrating inequities that one's birth could reward or deny. Yet without the acceptance of such a class differentiation, he knew the British Army in India would struggle to function. As Daniel wrestled with the threshold of his conscience, it sometimes became a point, if not an irritant, not lost of some of his mates.

One such occasion arose about a year into Daniel's posting. It was customary for the battalion, during the hottest days of summer, to leave behind only enough soldiers to garrison the fort. The rest retreated to their cooler camp in the nearby hills. While most were willing to take their turn enduring the unremitting heat, others of both thinner composure and thicker disposition embodied the reasons why they rarely answered a cool mountain revelry.

"Punkah Wallah," Hendrick shouted from his disquieted charpoy bed.

The over-head swinging fan, or punkah, hung still over everyone on the left on his side of the room. Hendrick's voice was, as usual, the first and the loudest to be heard.

Their kutcha type bungalow was made primarily of mud-dried bricks; its mud and wheat chaff plaster finish being similar to most of the architecture in that region. Its roof was both tiled and peaked, and the floor was consistent with the walls. The bungalow's interior contained twenty beds, ten to a side, with a punkah, or roof-hung fan, over each bed. A common draw rope culminated in the hands of the Punkah-Wallahs as they sat, one for each side, pulling ceaselessly outside the front of the barrack.

Hendrick roared again. "Punkah Wallah, I said, damn it!"

As Hendrick rose from his chair, Daniel could see the anger in his face, the severity of which being compounded by losing successive hands at cards. It was just before lamps out, and the men were taking care of matters, personal and otherwise, in advance of their enforced blackout.

"I'm gonna retire that wallah meself," Hendrick grumbled. He put on his boots and made his way to the front door.

After interrupting the letter he was writing home to his boys, Daniel shook his head and followed Hendrick by about a dozen paces. Concerned the young wallah would suffer for falling asleep at his task, the other Punkah Wallah exhausted the small handful of stones they each held in reserve to throw at the other on such occasions.

"Wake up, Wallah!" he blasted.

Hendrick's angry look foretold his vengeful mood. As Daniel joined Hendrick on the landing outside the bungalow, the lamplight from the barrack faintly illuminated the disturbance.

"Wallah want my boot?" Hendrick repeated. "Aye, Wallah want my boot up yur backside?" He tried his best to strike fear into the boy, as he stood over him in a very threatening manner.

"Look, I good Punkah Wallah!" the boy stated nervously. Having awoken and already resumed his burden, he continued to plead, "I not stop again, mister, I not stop again!"

"He's just a boy, Hendrick," Daniel intervened. "He only stopped for a moment."

The young boy's non-descript Shalwar kameez hung loosely on him. It seemed almost in tatters.

"Stay outta this one, Donoghue!" Hendrick blustered. With a slight turn of his head, he glared at Daniel.

Turning back to the boy, he added: "If you stop swingin that, I'll be swingin this!" Hendrick said. He pointed to the rope and then clenched and shook his fist in a demonstration of what awaited the boy if he fell asleep again.

"Come on Hendrick. You've made your point," Daniel stated. "He has the look of fear on his face. There's a vision that should help you get to sleep."

"I'd prefer the sigh' of fear on yur face Donoghue!"

"Your bullying tactics don't intimidate me, Hendrick," Daniel jousted, with an unconcerned expression.

"They don't, do they?" Hendrick took a step closer to Daniel in a blustering attempt to unnerve him. "Then maybe we should 'ave it out in the ring?"

Hendrick stood a good three inches and forty pounds larger than Daniel.

"I'll step into the ring with you anytime."

Hendrick looked as though he was ready to lunge toward Daniel. "How 'bout we settle this right now?" he growled, before a familiar voice pierced the darkness.

"Hendrick!" Sergeant Bertrand blasted. "Stand down, Private."

The Sergeant stepped out of the darkness and into the glow emanating from the barrack. Daniel and Hendrick quickly came to attention, facing the Sergeant on duty.

"That's enough," Bertrand stated. His raspy voice was as severe as his demeanor. "You can deal with your differing opinions in the ring this Sunday. Until then, I don't want any further disturbance. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir!" Daniel and Hendrick snapped in unison.

Daniel had run into the likes of Hendrick before. And it was the orphanage that taught him how they should be handled. Boxing lessons were intended for boys who didn't want to find themselves disadvantaged by bullies, whose only inclusive nature was to never discriminate between size and age. Though Daniel's skills were sometimes overwhelmed by brawn, his adversaries respected his desire to stand up, as long as he could, for what he believed in.

"Hendrick, you take a walk to cool off," the Sergeant ordered.

"Yes Sir!" he responded, giving Daniel a vindictive scowl. He reluctantly descended the couple of stairs to the dusty compound before being on his way.

"And be back by lamps out, Private."

"As for you, Donoghue, if you're so concerned about your Punkah Wallah, why don't you stay by his side until lamps out, just in case he needs your assistance again?" The sarcasm in his tone matched his expression.

"Yes, Sir," Daniel replied, half-heartedly.

The Sergeant then turned and was consumed by the darkness.

Feeling a sense of awkwardness, Daniel looked at the boy's older counterpart before turning back toward the young boy. "Well then, my friend, do you have a name?"

Daniel made his way over and sat down on the bench just beside him.

"I'm Mac," he said, in his native Pashtu accent.

"Mac," Daniel repeated, surprised. "Where did you get a name like that?"

"From the Cam... Cameronians," the boy replied. "The Scottish Rifles. They raised me."

"You don't say. Well, you speak English well, just the same."

"The Scots teach me fine, Sir!" he said, with a detectable hint of the upper Highland.

Daniel nodded his head in agreement. "They did Mac, they certainly did. My name is,' he started to say before Mac interrupted him.

"Will was my last friend! He was with the Scots, he was."

Daniel was surprised by Mac's enthusiasm, however he was familiar with how these sorts of conversations sometimes unfolded. As with his own sons, he allowed the boy's innocence guide the conversation. "I see, and where's Will now?" he asked.

"My friend left when the Scots left," he said. A boyish sadness infiltrated his tone. "He watched out for me, when I was a boy. Like a father would!"

"A boy?" Daniel asked, being perplexed by the boy's perception of his maturity. "How old are you now, Mac?"

"I do not know, but I do man's work now, I do man's work now!" he repeated. A hint of pride inflated his words.

"Yes, you do," Daniel agreed. He glanced over to the other wallah, who seemed many decades his senior.

"Well, my name is Daniel."

"I will call you Dan," Mac quickly interjected.

"Dan, it is, Mac."

While the young boy continued his task unabated, Daniel looked out over the darkened compound. A few lamplights flickered in the distance. The cantonment, or encampment, was a collection of structures, which were sprawled over a diameter of three miles. Located on a sandy plain, it was surrounded by low lying hills on the west, south and east sides. To the north was the Kabul River.

Like its counterpart, Peshawar, 20 miles to the west, it contained everything a military establishment required: administration offices, enlisted barracks, mess, hospital, armory and stables. Many officers lived off-site, some with their families. And while Daniel now lived a world apart from his own wife and sons, he was never so far away that he lost touch with what made him a worthy husband and father, a good man, for that matter. It was the unexpected that sometimes closed the distance. A conversation, perhaps, which reminded him of his loved ones back home.

Daniel clasped his hands and rested his arms on his knees. "If you don't mind me asking, Mac, what happened to your real father?"

"My father is dead, Dan, my mother too."

The second admission seemed to offer a more accurate testament of the boy's age. Mac's voice wavered slightly under the obvious strain of having to survive on his own at such a young age.

"That's tough, Mac. I know what it's like to grow up as an orphan." He looked down while reflecting for a moment on their common adversity. While wiping the perspiration from his forehead, Daniel tried to clear his mind of the unsettling thoughts wanting to jump the queue in his mind. Self-discipline won out, as he turned his attention back to Mac.

"Have you any relatives?"

"Yes, Dan but they don't want me." His manner fluctuated with the tone of their conversation.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mac."

"My father was Muslim and my mother, Hindu. Neither side wants me." Mac's head drooped with a realization that would undoubtedly undermine the tough exterior of any young soldier.

Daniel's sense of empathy couldn't help wanting to embrace another abandoned soul. If there was a deficit from which to start one's life, it lay more distantly concealed in Daniel than young Mac. He paused for a few moments, as Mac pulled dutifully on his rope. After a short pause, Daniel couldn't help but to inquire further. "Then you are free to choose your own religion, Mac," Daniel said.

"I have no religion, Dan," Mac stated, matter-of-factly. Mac looked straight out into the darkness and sighed. The excessive summer heat continued to burden the onset of night.

"If they do not want me, I do not want their religion." Mac began to pull his rope more energetically. His thrusts seemed fueled by a sense of frustration.

"Fair enough, Mac, fair enough." Daniel paused a moment again before the next obvious question came to mind.

"But then, do you believe in God?"

"I believe in my own God, Dan," Mac stated. There was a hint of empowerment in his voice.

"You are wiser than your years, Mac. I believe in my own God, too." Daniel mused: "I wonder sometimes if it's simpler that way."

"It is for me," Mac said, looking upward at Daniel. "My God knows me and I know my God."

"Yes, Mac, and He knows when to look out for you, doesn't He?"

"He does," Mac agreed, as he dutifully pulled on his rope. Another brief pause came and went, as their perceived commonality was drawn closer with each connecting thought.

"Do you think we have the same God, Dan?"

"Maybe we do, Mac, maybe we do."

'I think we do. I think the God that listens to me is the same God that speaks to you, Dan." Mac looked up at Daniel and smiled.

"Your God speaks to me?" Daniel wondered out loud. He straightened his back and tilted his head slightly. Mac's revelation caught Daniel by surprise, in a pleasant sort of way.

"And when He does, Dan, you listen."

"You think so?" Daniel seemed delighted by Mac's perspective.

"Yes, Dan. When I asked for His help tonight," Mac suggested, pausing until the sincerity of eye contact could be made, "He sent you!"

Daniel couldn't help smiling. "I suppose He did."

"Yes, He did, just like my last friend, Will," Mac said, continuing his rhythmic responsibility.

"Well then, Mac, I'm glad I was listening."

"I think you listen well, Dan. Better than most."

Daniel thought for a moment wondering to whom Mac was referring.

"To you or to God, Mac?"

"Both. If you didn't listen to my God, I think you would not have listened to anything a young Punkah Wallah would have to say."

Daniel laughed. He couldn't help feeling pleasantly surprised by the wisdom of the young lad. "How old did you say you were, Mac?"

But, before Mac could answer, Daniel's demeanor changed slightly. He got up confidently from his bench. He could see Hendrick coming out of the darkness, indicating it was almost lamps out and time to return to his bunk. Hendrick jumped the two steps to the veranda and gave Daniel a disgusted look as he entered the barrack with a quick stride.

"Well, Mac, I think it's time for me to retire." Daniel looked out into the darkness and took a deep breath. "It was a pleasure talking with you!" He turned to look at Mac before making his way to the door. He reflected, for a moment, on how tolerance is sometimes unexpectedly rewarded.

Then leaving his young friend to his task, Daniel turned his thoughts toward his own sons and the letter he was now inspired to finish.

CHAPTER TWO

### Saved by the Post

In love of home,

the love of country has its rise.

Charles Dickens

"And for what would you boys be waiting, may I ask?" their royally sanctioned friend asked. The white haired postman slowed to a stop in front of the boys' house.

"Please stop teasing us, Mr. Deevy," Steve said, with a less than playful spirit.

Steve and Dave waited in the same spot every day, at the end of their short front walkway. In the Chiswick suburb of London's west end, the brothers stood outside their row-house, hoping the words of their father would soon echo within.

"I can ass... ssure you, Master Steven," Mr Deevy sputtered, adjusting his coal-scuttle hat. "The Royal Post is a very s... s... serious matter!"

"I should think so!" Steve agreed. His brother Dave glared at Mr. Deevy's round spectacles then grimaced at his over-grown moustache.

Mr. Deevy started to complete his thought when an unexpected comment undermined his authority.

"Is that why it takes so long to deliver to the pub?" Mrs. Usher interjected, simultaneously shuffling both her letters and feet across the yard next door.

Taken aback by the boys' nosey neighbor, Mr. Deevy steadied himself by putting his hand on one of the walkway's brick columns. His mouth hung open, but his tongue was left stilled by his unresponsive wit.

"Mr. Deevy!" Dave pulled at this trouser leg. "Mr. Deevy," he repeated.

"Ah," he grunted.

Mr. Deevy flung his arm through the air of frustration that surrounded him. After shaking his head at Mrs. Usher, he turned his attention back to the boys.

Mr. Deevy stuttered when excited. "Yes, l... lads, what can I do for you?"

Dave stepped from the narrow dirt road back onto the sidewalk. "Is it possible for you to reverse your route?" he asked.

"Reverse my route... w... w... why would I do that?"

"That way the pub would come after our house and not before!"

Mr. Deevy couldn't help hearing the laughter coming from Mrs. Usher's front door. He glanced up to the clouds and rolled his eyes in their direction.

"Well, do you want me to ch... ch... check or... or not?" he asked, flustered.

As he pretended to dust Mrs. Usher's comments off the sleeves of his navy-blue serge uniform, Dave tried to peak under the tarpaulin of Mr. Deevy's dark red wicker handcart.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Deevy, please check for us," Steve pleaded. "Don't mind my younger brother."

Mr. Deevy laughed. "You know, I... I was beginning to think I'd arrived home l... late for s... s... supper!"

"Stop it, Dave!" Steve growled, slapping down the cart's tarpaulin.

After exhausting any remnant of defeat from his lungs, Mr. Deevy noticed Mary, the boys' mother, smiling in the front window of their sand-colored brick house. Though their letter carrier was one of their most familiar visitors, she and the boys were used to a parade of callers arriving at their gate.

Mid-week found the rabbit woman in front of their walkway. Mary could choose between English and Ostende, the latter being the more luscious. After two well-placed slits, Steve and Dave would watch in amazement as the skin came off in seconds. They were comforted to know a pair of cozy gloves would live on.

Saturday brought the bell of the muffin man. "Muffins and crumpets for sale," he called. His spotless apron was of the same linen which covered his wares. The boys often sat at the kitchen table, watching as their mother spread a thin layer of precious butter over the coveted treat.

On Sunday morning, the shrimp and winkle man soon became the focus of every neighborhood cat. Winkles, a common shellfish, were enjoyed with Sunday afternoon tea. And although the milkman arrived daily, it was the postman who could be counted upon to deliver more than just letters from afar.

Mr. Deevy winked at Mary, as if to take her into his confidence. He paused again for effect. This time though, just long enough for the boys' longing faces to soften his big heart.

"Well then, let me see," he said, looking into his satchel. "What is the house number here?"

He pulled a letter, as if magically from his bag, and read its address. "10 Hogarth Lane." He glanced momentarily at the house. "Yes, this must be the place." He adjusted his small spectacles while looking down at the letter.

"Masters Steven and David," he said, handing the small package to Steve. "Does that look like Donoghue to you?" Mr. Deevy chuckled and directed a broad smile toward their mother in the window.

Dave instantly became fidgety with excitement, as he looked at the package in his brother's hands. Steve, on the other hand, seemed to fall into a trance. He turned slowly, as if with great care for what he held, and began making his way to the front door of their house. With Dave in tow, their eyes were hopelessly glued to the item Mr. Deevy had just delivered.

"And would you believe?" the Postman said loudly, bringing them back for an encore.

"What do we have here? Mrs. Daniel Donoghue," he said, pulling another timely gift from his bag.

As David returned and took it gently from his hands, Mr. Deevy looked up at Mary through the white-sashed window. The tips of her hands met, as they covered her mouth. It was obvious her prayers had been answered as well.

"Mommy!" shouted David.

The boys burst through the front door of their small flat. As Mary stood in the hallway with her sons jumping at her feet, she looked out at Mr. Deevy through the open entryway. While wiping the tears from her eyes, she exchanged a wave with him. After returning her smile, Mr. Deevy moved on, allowing Mary to refocus her attention on her exuberant sons.

Dave was almost giddy. "Look, it's from Daddy!"

He pensively gestured for his mother to take what appeared to be more of a package than a letter. Seeing that it would be harder for Dave to give than for her to take, Mary slid the small parcel from his hands.

"Would you like to wait 'till later, boys?" their mother asked, trying to settle their moods. Steve and Dave followed her to their small kitchen at the rear of the modest London row-house.

"'Till bedtime, you mean?" Steve asked. It had become customary for Mary and the boys to read their respective letters from the comfort of their beds.

"Can I read it this time?"

Now old enough to read, Steve no longer needed the help of his mother to understand most of his father's words. The three of them took their usual places at the small kitchen table.

"I don't see why not," Mary agreed. With her right hand, she fixed Dave's blonde hair, combing it with her fingers. "Why don't we read it together?" she asked.

Steve sat back in his chair, fearing his mother would try to do the same to his darker cut. But Mary was wise to her son's independence. She smiled and looked into his eyes for as long as Steve would allow.

"Then will you read us yours tomorrow?" Dave asked. His chair was next to the window.

"Yes, but if you don't mind, boys, I'll read my husband's letter when I go to bed, and then I'll repeat your father's words to you in the morning. You understand, don't you?"

"Of course, Mum!" said Steve. Dave nodded in agreement.

"Alright. How about I hold the letters until bedtime?"

Dave's eyes were full of enthusiasm. "Be careful with it, Mum! There's something valuable inside."

Mary smiled before getting up from her chair. "Why don't I put them on your bedside table for safe-keeping?"

On Steve and Dave's agreement, Mary left the kitchen through the front parlor, the second of only two rooms on the ground floor. Venturing upstairs, she entered the boys' room and placed the package on the small table between their beds. Theirs was one of only two bedrooms, the other across the hall being hers and Daniel's. Their 'two up and two down' home was very modest, but consistent with most neighborhood dwellings.

While Mary's family had lived in London's west end for as long as anyone could remember, Daniel's arrived from the county of Tipperary in the wake of the Irish potato famine. Daniel's grandfather, of the same name, arrived in Chiswick (pronounced Chisick) with his young bride in the late 1840's. The expanding London suburb, with its close proximity to a meander of the River Thames, was regarded at the time as the 'Great Garden of London'. Its nurseries, which were lined with fruit trees, supported a thriving demand for market gardeners. It was here that Daniel's grandfather reached for and found the most rewarding fruit of one's labor, a renewed sense of hope for the future.

Daniel Sr.'s son, David, was born and married in Chiswick, but when he was discovered to be too great a supporter of the parish's 350 year old brewing history, he was let go from his position as a laborer with the Thornycroft & Company ship building yard. In later years, Daniel's father's occupation was recorded as 'Ship's Fireman.' As a young boy, Daniel witnessed a terrible argument between his mother and father, the one where his father announced he had joined Merchant Navy. He was seldom seen again.

Though the young Daniel despaired he would never recover, it was his mother who, throughout those tumultuous years, filled his soul with words of encouragement. It was she who prepared Daniel for that special day, the day in which he first heard the sound of his Mary's voice. And if on that day Daniel's life changed forever, it was from the cry of his first born son that an unbreakable commitment was realized. He would, indeed, live up to a higher standard and become the father he wished he had.

"Is it time yet?" David asked, as his mother washed the last few dishes. He had just come in from using the outside lavatory, the last part of the boys' bedtime routine.

"But, Dave," Mary laughed, "we've only just finished supper,"

Dave plopped himself into a chair at their tiny kitchen table. "I don't know what to do."

Dave noticed his mother seemed to be preoccupied with something beyond her small window. He looked out the one to his right. Looking beyond the gooseberry bushes, which lined the brick walls on either side of their back yard, and over the Montbretia that softened the privy at the end, the pinkish hue of a fading sunset caused Dave's young mind to consider simple pleasures, those which his mother obviously enjoyed.

"What's your brother doing?" she quietly asked. Her thoughts returned to her task.

"He's drawing something."

"Why don't you join him?" Mary glanced between David and the dish, which she was now drying.

"I don't know. It looks too complicated."

"I think your brother is going to make a fine draftsman one day."

Mary turned toward the front parlor where Steve was lying on the floor, oblivious to their conversation.

"What do you think I'll be when I grow up, Mum?" Dave planted his elbows upon the table and rested his chin upon his hands. His mother put down her towel to give him her full attention. "What sort of career would you like to have, if you could choose one?"

Dave tilted his head. "I'm not sure exactly." His contemplative expression entertained his mother.

"Well, you do have some time to think about it."

"Maybe - I - could – be..." Dave began, while looking around the room for inspiration. His eyes settled his father's letter to his mother.

"I could be a soldier, like Daddy!"

"You want to be a soldier?" Steve interjected. He now stood at the entrance to the kitchen.

"Why not?" Dave retorted. "It's what Dad is!" Dave stiffened his posture confidently.

"A soldier is a very honorable choice, David!"

Steve walked into the kitchen and stood behind the chair next to Dave's. "Why did Father become a soldier, Mum?"

"That's a good question, Steve, and I'd be happy to answer it for you both, but may I first make a suggestion?"

Both Steve and Dave nodded in agreement.

"Why don't we get ready for bed early? We can talk about it before you open the letter from your father."

"Alright," they both agreed.

"Then, why don't you get changed first? I'll be up directly."

Steve and Dave ran for the narrow stairs, competing for who would reach the top first. Steve, now six and David, four, lived just down the street from Mary's parents, Ellen and Patrick Curtin. Although Daniel's career, and the monetary struggles that went along with it, never sat well with Patrick, Daniel was gratified to know that his sons held a high place in his father-in-law's heart.

The front door of the house slowly opened.

"Hello! Is anyone home?"

"Is that you, Mum?" Mary poked her head around the corner from the kitchen and looked down toward the entryway.

"It is," Ellen replied. "I hope you don't mind me letting myself in?"

"Of course not!" Mary rested her apron over a chair before greeting her mother in the front hall.

"Hello, Gran," Steve hollered from above. He then Dave appeared in their nightgowns at the top of the stairs.

"Well hello, boys!"

Dave's excitement surfaced again. "Did you hear we got a letter from Daddy this afternoon?"

"I did hear a commotion on the street earlier today," she said, playfully. "Is that what all the excitement was about?'

"Yes!" Mary interjected. "Mr. Deevy led them on for all it was worth!"

"I suppose that's why you're ready for bed early tonight, isn't it?" Their grandmother glanced from Mary upward to the boys.

"It is, Gran," Dave replied.

"And Mum's agreed to let me read Dad's letter this time," Steve proudly added.

"Well then, I won't keep you any longer," Ellen said, turning her attention back to Mary. "I just wanted to mention to your mother that your grandfather would like to know if you all could come for supper this Sunday."

"Oh yes, Mum can we?" Dave shouted.

"Would you make our favorite dessert?" Steve asked.

"We'll see," their mother replied, tempering their enthusiasm.

Ellen could tell there was something amiss, but she said nothing.

Mary turned to her boys still at the top of the stairs, asking: "Would you boys mind jumping into bed? I'll be up right after having a word with Gran."

Mary's expression turned slightly serious, as if she had something other than desserts on her mind.

"Oh, alright!" Steve reluctantly agreed.

"Good night then, boys."

"Good night, Gran," they said, before turning for their bedroom. Mary glanced up the stairs to make sure they had a moment to themselves.

She then got straight to the point. "You know that we love to come over. It's just..."

"It's your father, isn't it?" Ellen stated, matter-of-factly.

Mary's eyes spoke for her. "You know I love Father."

"And he loves you, Mary, very dearly."

"I know that, but sometimes the things he says about Daniel! The way he goes on about the social standing of a soldier. How I could have done better. I'm sorry Mum but..."

"There's no need to apologize, dear," Ellen interjected. She could feel her daughter's frustration.

Mary's soft spoken nature was emboldened. "Next time... I'm going to say something!"

"Well," Ellen paused, "maybe it would be better if I had a word with him first."

Mary sighed before resurrecting her composure. "Would you? I'm at odds with him enough as it is. And he... you are both so generous."

"You know, Mary, you will never have to worry. After all, it is not he that holds those purse strings from which you and the boys benefit."

Mary wanted to say something, but before she could offer her appreciation, Ellen shook her head and laughed. "If your father ever had to deal with mine... Patrick should count himself lucky that his father-in-law passed before we met."

Mary's eyes brightened. "You never told me about that."

"What is it about the men in our family?" Ellen asked, smiling. She turned for the front door.

"I should like to know," Mary interjected.

"Maybe all fathers are overprotective. I don't think I'll ever understand it." Ellen added, opening the door. After stepping through its threshold, she turned around. "Say goodnight to the boys for me, will you."

She descended the few stairs to the walkway.

"Of course, and... Mum."

Ellen looked back at Mary.

"Yes, dear?"

Gratitude spilled from Mary's eyes. "Thank you. Thank you for everything."

Just then Steve arrived at the top of the stairs. "Mum, are you coming?"

"I'll be right there. I'm just watching Gran safely to her house."

"We'll see you this Sunday, then?" Ellen asked.

"Of course you will."

After closing the door behind her and walking up the stairs, Mary found the boys needing only a few light-hearted words to settle them. Steve and Dave nestled into their shared bed, while their mother lit the wall mounted gaslight.

"Before we get to your letter, boys," she said, "do you still want to know why your father became a soldier?"

Steve looked at the letter in his mother's hands.

"Can we do that after?" Dave requested, "I don't want to fall asleep before we get to Dad's letter!"

Mary smiled. "Is that alright with you, Steve?"

Steve nodded.

"Alright then," Mary said, holding out the parcel. "Who's going to open it?"

"I'll do it!" Dave stated. "Seeing as Steve is going to read it."

"Seems fair," Mary agreed, giving Dave the small package.

Dave instantly began to work the knotted string loose. His fidgeting fingers tried different strategies. He flipped the bundle several times, before the limits of his dexterity and Steve's patience intersected in frustration.

"Just break it!" Steve said, raising his voice.

"Give him a chance," his mother said softly, supporting Dave's efforts.

"There!" Dave proclaimed, as the string was released. After tearing its folded edges open, Dave found a letter as well as two small objects wrapped in a beige cloth-like material.

"Would you look at that!" he gasped. A small figure appeared from the unrolled cloth.

"It's an elephant carving," Steve announced. He held the small object up close to see its sculpted detail. It was barely two inches in length.

"What do you think it's made of?" Dave asked, glancing up at his mother.

While etching the moment into memory, Mary smiled. "What do you think it could be?" she asked, challenging them to use their imaginations.

"Ivory?" Steve asked. With his eyes hardly blinking, they remained focused on the small white elephant cradled in his hand.

Mary passed the small piece of paper to Steve. "Why don't we read your father's letter and find out."

"Alright," he agreed. "Will you hold this for me while I read?" Steve handed his mother his small carving as Dave broke his attention away from his gift. Steve unfolded the dry paper and found his father's words on the opposite side. He cleared his throat to read:

~

Dear Steven and David, August 25, 1913

~

I hope you are both well. I am writing to you again from the Munsters' camp at Nowshera, India. It is still very hot here, hotter than anything at home. While daytime temperatures often exceed 120 degrees, during the night they can cool off to a biting cold. Thank you so much for your last letter. And, yes! I too wish I was swimming with you at your favorite spot on the banks of the Thames. The river that flows through Nowshera is called the Kabul. It offers some relief from the heat as it is supplied by the melting snow caps of the nearby Hindu-Kush Mountains.

That reminds me, I hope you received the ivory elephant carvings I enclosed for each of you. Before I explain the signi... signif... 'significance,' Mary interjected, looking over to help Steve, 'significance... of your carvings,' Steve continued, 'I'll bring you up to date on the regiment's conditions and exploits.

We have just returned to our barracks after a two-week expedition throughout our territory. A typical day, while on campaign, is as follows: we rise before dawn and march until mid-day. At that point we make camp and take shelter from the hot, hot sun. While the afternoon passes slowly, the evening allows for some time to write and think of how much we miss our loved ones at home.

The people who live throughout the Frontier never cease to amaze me. While many villagers are grateful to see us, there are some that are fiercely independent. Nevertheless, you might be glad to know, the values we instill here are the same ones that have made the empire successful at home and around the world. I look forward to sharing with you further, both in letters and in person, the principles that define a good boy, a decent man and a great nation.

That brings me to the elephants you may be holding in your hands. In case you were wondering, they were carved by one of our bhisti's after returning from this last excursion. A bhisti is a local Indian man or boy who carries the much-needed water for the marching battalion. The figures he carved for you are a likeness of an elephant in our Bearer Corps. Her name was Mahana eka, or 'Great One' in Hindi. I say 'was' because, although she was a sight to behold, she unfortunately died on the last day of our expedition. When I told our bhisti I would buy two carvings for my sons, he said he hoped your elephants will remind you of the qualities that Mahana eka represented.

He told me they are DUTY- to carry out the task that is expected of you, or that you have agreed to; LOYALTY- being faithful to one's commitment or obligation and COURAGE- the ability to face danger without fear, knowing that your actions may benefit others more than yourself. I hope your Ivory elephants, which came from her modest tusks will remind you of the qualities that can be found in both man and beast alike.

As it is getting late, I will have to conclude, leaving you with one thought. Someday, when my time in India nears its end, I hope my commitment to the regiment will be remembered as proudly as Mahana Eka's. I trust it will make for you, as it will for me, a family reunion that will be as meaningful as it is rejoiced.

Boys, please look after your mother. It serves my spirits well knowing you are there in my place.

Until I return, God bless you, my brave young soldiers.

Your Loving Father.

~

Steve didn't want to let go of his father's words. He continued to glance over the letter, as he allowed it to slowly fall into his lap.

With a degree of contentment, his mother folded her arms. "Well, I think that was a very timely letter, don't you?"

"I feel sad for the elephant," Dave said, still captivated by his carving. "What was her name?"

Steve looked quickly and found the paragraph. "Mahana Eka," he replied.

"I'm going to keep mine forever!" said Dave.

"So Steve, does your father's letter answer some of your questions about why he doesn't leave the Munsters?"

Before Mary got up, she struck a match and lit the candle on the shelf beside the boys' bed.

"It does, Mum." Steve said. He gently put his elephant on the same shelf and then turned to get beneath his bedcovers.

"But, it doesn't answer why he became a soldier in the first place."

"Well you have to remember, boys, your father didn't have many choices available to him after growing up in the orphanage."

"I suppose," Steve agreed.

While holding the flickering candle, Mary walked over to the bedroom door and grasped its handle. "Try to remember boys," she said, turning back toward them, "your father won't be a soldier for his whole life!"

The bed's only blanket covered the two boys up to the chest. Dave was preoccupied by his elephant, but sensed his mother was leaving. "Good night, Mum," he said.

Steve was more focused on his mother's smile. "And God bless you, too!" he said.

"Don't forget to say your prayers," Mary whispered, before closing the door behind her.

Only the narrow width of the second floor's hallway separated the boys from her and Daniel's room. Once inside, she set her flickering candle down on her bedside table. Mary's first attempt to light her gaslight went unsuccessful as her concentration was distracted by the letter lying beside the candleholder. "Blast," she muttered, before the lamp accepted the flame of a second match. Turning down her bed, Mary then walked over to the room's only window. Before closing the curtains, she looked out over the street and shook her head. A gamut of emotions swirled within her.

Why can't he just come home? she wondered.

While looking out onto Hogarth Lane, Mary watched a man on a bicycle coming to a stop beside a street light. After pulling on the light's cantilevered chain, he lit the gaslight and then returned it to its upright position. A portion of the street below became illuminated. As he rode off, she tilted her head, so her eyes could follow him. A few moments later another glowing light served notice to the night. She thought for a moment and felt her own darkness lift. An interval was, again, being punctuated by her light, her Daniel.

She closed the drapes and made her way to her side, the lonely part of the bed. She climbed in. After pulling a deep red blanket up to her waist, she opened the drawer of the bedside table. A stringed bundle of letters appeared. After using her letter opener to free her husband's words, a separate piece of paper suddenly fell out of the envelope onto her lap.

It was a beautiful dried flower. In Daniel's handwriting, below it, she read:

'The Himalayan Orchid represents:

Love,

In my heart my love for you is forever captured.

Beauty,

In my mind a vision of you is forever etched.

Refinement,

In my spirit glows the light that shines brightest beside yours,

And thoughtfulness,

In my soul resides a fuller grace of being inspired by you, my love.'

~

For a moment, Mary stared at the flower. She then re-read the words. The tears they drew began to roll down her cheeks. She felt the sincerity of her husband's sentiment, but he and they had a habit of accentuating things, things like the distance between loved ones.

A father's words accentuate distance and geography; a husband's, however, only magnified the space between two lovers in bed. Her body became tense with the sensation of having him beside her again. She envisioned his hands caressing her curves. Mary could almost feel them around her waist. A longing to let her husband run his fingers over her entire body consumed her. They would tease her lips, run over her firming breasts, and then with loving playfulness, descend between her legs. A warm sultry breeze floated through the room's open window. It caused Mary to shudder. She couldn't take it any longer.

Mary let out an extended sigh, hoping it would carry off the fuel of her desire. She fumbled with the small keepsake, and then paused before unfolding the letter. Unable to concentrate on it, let alone read it, she finally gave in. She dropped the letter and pulled her blanket up to her face. Through muffled sobs, she called out to her husband, to her lover: Please come home. Please come home. Please come home.

CHAPTER THREE

### On Expedition

When I die, India will be forever engraved on my heart.

Queen Mary, Consort of George V

In nineteen-fourteen, Daniel was in his second year of service in India. This Wednesday in early May represented two years of not seeing his Mary and two years of not being there for Steven and David. Daniel never regretted defying the Army's marriage rule, doing so when he married before completing seven years of service. Even though this ensured Mary would be denied admittance to the Marriage Roll, thus preventing her from travelling with him, the point was made moot by the fact they both wanted to start a family right away. They agreed May would stay with the boys in London.

Although her two growing boys kept Mary focused on her daily routine, Mary was always aware of what the spring of 1914 represented. Daniel was now only weeks away from completing his full complement of Regular Army service; he would soon be granted permission to transfer into the Regiment's Reserves.

With the more active season upon them, Daniel and his battalion were ready to deploy into the far reaches of the N.W.F. (North-West Frontier.) Their mission: another 'punitive expedition'.

Abazai, a village about 26 miles to the northwest, had been overrun by an aggressive tribe from the Hindu-Kush Mountains. As the village was located within the perceived influence of the Raj, admittedly the extreme limit, it was an act that could not go without redress. The reprisal would take the form of a minor campaign, one which would most likely culminate in a frustrating 'jirga', or peace meeting between the column commander and the local offending chief. This process would likely, once again, stretch the limit of every soldier's sense of justice and call into question the reason for embarking in the first place.

The authority to orchestrate such a bargain rested with the customary Political Officer, who travelled with the campaign. While many Political Officers served the Crown's interests with great distinction, and enlarged the Raj's influence through peaceful means, the challenges Daniel's regiment faced in North-West Frontier were somewhat unique. Once maintained as a buffer zone against the threat of Russian invasion, the region was considered by many to be the wild west of India.

Here, the P.O's, as they were called, were often ex-military men and usually of native birth. And as a result of a stronger allegiance to Indian politicians than to the British Army, they were frequently perceived by their English counterparts to be resolving disputes with a bias towards local tribesmen. Sometimes representing the bane of each other's existence, it was under the tension of this constraint that Daniel's column left the relative safety of their camp.

Accompanying them, while marching eight to twelve miles a day, were several other concerns of modern warfare: the use of excessive force; insurgents that blended with and were sometimes protected by locals. Additionally, an accurate depiction in the press of what they were actually accomplishing was always underwritten by a greater context, that being the challenges posed by nature itself.

After enduring a predetermined existence between the sun and its anvil, Daniel's column made its mid-day camp on the northern bank of the Swat River. Filling the ranks and pitching their temporary, yet well-outfitted camp, were units of the 1st Battalion, Royal Munster Fusiliers (1st R.M.F.), the 2nd Battalion of the 1st King George's Gurkha Rifles (the Malaun regiment) and the 25th Mountain Artillery Battery. In addition, a Bearer Corps from the Peshawar division of the Northern Command was the essential requirement to carry the much needed water and supplies on the expected one week campaign.

Having encamped alongside the river, the force, which exceeded one-thousand strong, left the complement of 2nd Nowshera Brigade behind to safeguard the fort. The 2nd Battalion of the East Surrey Regiment, the 24th, 46th and 82nd Battalions of the Punjabis, and the 112th Infantry Regiment remained under the capable command of Major General Bannantine-Allason.

As the heat of the afternoon dissipated into the evening, and breathtaking scenes of the Khyber Pass and the snow-covered peaks of the Himalayan Mountains faded into the darkness, the night sentry would 'crown the heights' from his hill-top defensive observation point. These 'piquets,' as they were called, were used to control the flanking high ground during encampment. A similar exercise was carried out on a rotating basis moving forward, as the expedition's column marched towards its destination.

A typical evening allowed the perimeter guard to witness a majestic scene of dusk descending on the camp. Best experienced from their lonely two-hour perch, it was a fleeting reward to observe hundreds of tents beginning to glow randomly from their lamps being lit within. In the distance, the bearer core's native herdsmen coaxed elephants and camels from the river's edge to the relative safety of the camp's perimeter. And, finally, as the last canvas was illuminated, it was an opportunity to entertain conversation before the hour of retirement.

A small fire crackled, as Sullivan joined Daniel and Roger between the long rows of tents. "Any thoughts on the 'morrow's duties?" Sully asked.

Before a reply could be offered, Gerry, their 'A' company mate, emerged from his tent and groaned as he straightened his back. "I'd say if we stick to the river, we'll be in Abazai by mid-day."

Daniel furthered the air of informality by relieving his shoulders of his suspenders. "If Abazai were headin' to, I hope it goes better than last time."

His casual dress included a white long sleeved shirt and wool Khaki trousers with puttees wrapped from the knee to his ankle. His leather ammunition boots were covered in the dust from the day's march, and they were in dire need of his bhisti's attention.

"I wonder if the Colonel will let the P.O. call this one," Roger asked. He was, of course, referring to the customary political officer that would undoubtedly employ the tactic of Shilly Shallying, or bringing words where deeds are required.

Daniel bent down to stir the fire. "Let's just say the 'Chief' will want this one to go into the books without incident."

"And that's exactly what is going to happen," came a familiar voice from the darkness.

"'TENTION!" Their Sergeant bellowed, before he and their captain approached the small group.

Sergeant Bertrand was a man whose blustery Irish exterior was like a cannon shot that preannounced his arrival. Despite his thick-chested brawniness, he was respected by his superiors and well-liked by the men.

The men turned to see 'Bert', as they called him and their new 'A' Company Captain. They were walking briskly toward them. After returning his salute, the small group of enlisted men parted slightly to allow Captain Jackson to join the informal circle. While standing just behind his superior's left shoulder, Sergeant Bertrand remained at the ready to chastise any remark out of turn.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Captain Jackson announced with a nod.

"Evenin' Captain," the group replied in unison.

After an initial moment of awkwardness, Daniel broke the silence. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Captain?"

"Unofficially, I am here at the Colonel's pleasure."

The Captain was the only man of the informal gathering that was not out of uniform.

"You don't say!" Gerry responded, winking at Daniel and Sully.

"Sounds interesting," Sully added.

"Officially, I should say," the Captain cast his eyes around the group, "I am here of my own accord."

The small fire snapped, casting a rolling glow over the men's faces. Though a fresh one-day stubble was felt by all, the Captain and Daniel were the only of the group without mustaches.

With his usual degree of sarcasm, Gerry chimed in again. "Must be important if it can't wait till mornin's orders."

"Watch it, Private!" Sergeant Bertrand barked. "The Captain'll decide what's important and when you should be 'earin it."

To a man, the group could feel the glare of Bertrand's dark, squinting eyes.

"That's all right, Sergeant," the Captain said, glancing over his shoulder.

He looked back at Gerry, smiling. "May I continue, Private?"

"O'Reilly, Captain. Private Gerald O'Reilly, at your service," Gerry then mustered a more fitting composure.

"Glad to hear that, O'Reilly," the Captain suggested. He rubbed his hands together while clenching his teeth. "Right then, I've come to let you know ahead of time that tomorrow's destination is Abazai."

Gerry winked at Sully. "Didn't I call that one?" he whispered to him.

"Abazai, as you know," the Captain continued, "has been a bit of a hot spot over the last few months."

"Yes, but," Sullivan interjected, "that's only because we're not allowed to put an end to it." Though Sully's tone of frustration was not lost on the Captain, the Sergeant's face grimaced as his hopes for a respectful discussion quickly began to fade.

"I understand your concerns, men," the Captain responded. "The same is felt by all, I can assure you."

Roger smiled before tempting the Captain's sense of humor. "An' what uniform will I be wearin' tomorrow Captain? A soldier's or a Bobby's?"

"Alright, that'll do, Private," Bertrand blustered. "If you're not careful you'll find yourselves peelin' the hills on Forward Guard tomorrow!"

After a short pause, the Captain let out a sigh on which his elevated rank seemed to exhale. The fire continued to shed its familiar light, while the hill-top guard perches started to glow with their own.

"Look men, I have been as disappointed as you with the outcomes of the missions of late. But we all have our duty to perform, including the Colonel."

The men nodded in agreement.

"Now, you may have heard of Henderson, our new P.O.," the Captain added.

Sullivan smiled. "I heard he is as soft as..."

"Ahem!" The Sergeant loudly cleared his throat.

Captain Jackson joined the chorus of chuckles. "You heard right then." His friend-like manner was always refreshing to the men. "As a result, the Colonel expects to be frustrated by the terms of tomorrow's Jirga. Therefore, the Chief, I mean Colonel Quinn, is insisting that we keep our personal feelings to ourselves."

"What's happened this time?" Daniel asked.

"Well... I'm only telling you this because you'll be front and center tomorrow. Sorry Sergeant, I should have mentioned it to you first."

"That's all right, Captain," Bert responded, smiling at the men. "I told you your remarks 'ould come back to haunt you."

"On a more serious note, men," the Captain continued. "Our information at this point is that a tribe has taken over the old fort located just west of the village."

"The Mohmands 'ave been at it again, 'ave they?" Roger scowled.

"I'm afraid so," the Captain agreed. "The fort is being leveraged as a base from which to hold the people of Abazai hostage. They will undoubtedly demand guns and ammunition for their release."

Tribes of the Mohmands were a powerful Pathan clan living partly in Aghanistan and partly in the districts around Peshawar. They were known to be fanatical and quarrelsome, which made it easy for their Mullahs to stir up trouble.

"Another Jehad, I suppose," Sullivan said quietly.

"But, we've been to villages overrun by these thugs before," Daniel suggested.

"Haven't we!" responded the Captain.

"Then are we going to root them out just so the P.O. can let them go?" Sully asked.

"Well, seeing as One Platoon will be the escort for the P.O., I should mention that Colonel Quinn is somewhat concerned by the fact that some of the Bearer Corps hail from this village."

Daniel shook his head. "How old is our information?"

"I'm afraid it's nearly seven days old."

"A week?" Sullivan exclaimed.

Every man present knew that robber bands frequently raided villages that were perceived to be cooperating with the British authorities. During such attacks, villagers were often compelled to harbor and shield the raiders within their community. Noncompliance was often met with devastating reprisals.

"Why 'as it taken so long this time?" Roger asked.

"I'm sorry, men, I don't have all the answers on this one, but I can say this is why the Colonel wants the Bearer Corps well in the rear when we approach the village."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," Sully suggested.

"Now, the Colonel expects this one to go down without incident, but he has assured me that he doesn't intend to relinquish total authority to the P.O., if you understand my meaning." The Captain's eyes panned over the men as if reinforcing his unspoken point. "As far as the rest of the men, you have my permission to pass on that message to the rest of One Platoon. The rest of 'A' Company will get their orders in the morning."

"Will that be all then, Captain?" Bertrand asked.

"Yes, Sergeant. That'll be all until morning men so do try and get a good night's rest. I'm sure we'll all be better for it in the morning."

"You 'eard the man," Bert growled.

"As you were," the Captain added, with an informal salute.

"And remember what'll happen if there's any misbehavin!" The Sergeant snarled, giving them a wink and a smirk before leaving with the Captain.

"Yeah, yeah," Gerry grumbled.

As Captain Jackson and Sergeant Bertrand faded into the darkness, Gerry and Roger agreed to find the other One Platoon members before returning to the tent they shared with Daniel and Sully.

Daniel stood over the fire, looking into its embers. Sully knew what he was thinking. They both appreciated the Captain's desire to keep his men well informed, but getting operational information the night before allowed them time to ruminate. Daniel was fully aware of how a mission could turn deadly. How, in an instant, a fanatic could emerge with a sword or rifle from a nearby hut. That's the way Fitzgerald's wife was widowed and McEvoy lost his right arm. Their assailants were dispatched forthwith, of course, but McEvoy was sent home with few prospects for a career.

Sully kicked at the fire's few remaining logs. He was just about to reassure his friend, when they were both alerted to a familiar voice. It was Mac, and he had an announcement of his own.

"Dan!" a shout came from the darkness. "Dan, it is me!" he said again, after appearing out of the darkness.

"What can I do for you, Mac?"

Though Mac was joined by boy a little taller than he, their dark hair and similar Shalwar Kameez type clothing testified to a similar social status.

"Dan, this is my new friend Pasha. He helps with the elephants and camels."

Daniel nodded at Pasha.

Mac continued with his usual exuberance. "He does not speak any English, Dan, but we want to know two things."

"What do you need to know, Mac?"

"First, do you have any laundry or boots that we may clean for you and your mates?"

"How much for our boots?" Sullivan asked of the wide-eyed Mac.

"One farthing, sir," he replied, "one farthing each. Is that fair?"

Sully looked at his boots before replying. "You'll have to do better than that, Mac."

Looking for some reassurance, Mac glanced between the two men. "We bargain, then?"

"Oh come on, Sully," Daniel goaded. "The money means tenfold to him that it does to us. Look Mac, I'll give you a farthing for both pairs... and two shirts. How's that?"

"One farthing it is, Dan. You drive a hard bargain."

Daniel smiled. "No, Mac, I think it's you that takes advantage, not I."

"It is as you say... what are friends for?"

"What else did you need to know, Mac, before you earn my farthing?"

"Oh yes, my friend, Pasha, wants to know if we are going to Abazai tomorrow?"

As if he understood the question, Mac's friend nodded enthusiastically.

Sully turned inquisitive. "Why does he want to know that, is he a spy?"

"I don't know. I'll ask him."

Mac turned toward his friend, and then looked back at Sully. "Dan's friend, what is a spy?"

"Well, a spy is someone..." Sully reflected, before being interrupted

"Let's not worry about that right now, Mac," Daniel interjected. "Why does he want to know where we are going?"

"Because Abazai is his home village!"

"It is, is it? And does he still have any family living there?" Daniel waited for the answer he didn't want to hear as Mac spoke to his friend in their native Pashtu tongue.

"Yes, Dan," replied Mac. "He said that his two sisters want him to bring back news of their parents."

"His sisters?"

"Yes, they both work for the Chief's wife. They are servants."

Daniel paused for a moment hoping that the fate of Pasha's village was not as the Captain had described it. But, having grown up in the general area, Pasha most likely already knew the direction in which they are heading would lead them to his home village.

"Now, Mac, you know we cannot discuss where we might or might not be going. But, there is one thing I can tell you."

"Yes, Dan."

"I did hear the Colonel may have a special request for the Bearer Corps tomorrow. That means both of you!"

"A special request," Mac recoiled, "from the Colonel himself?"

"Yes Mac, from the Colonel himself."

Mac's face beamed as he informed his older friend of the good news.

"Now, Mac," Daniel continued, "You know how to be a good soldier, don't you?"

"Of course, Dan. My friend and I will make... how do you say... fine soldiers."

Sully piped up. "If you're going to enlist them, you might as well give them their shilling."

"Oh no, Dan's friend," Mac insisted. "We agreed on a farthing. Didn't we, Dan?"

"We did, Mac, and here it is." Daniel said, handing Mac the small coin.

"Sully and I will give you these now. Come on, Sully," Daniel said, as he and Sully removed their shirts. "And I'll set the boots outside our tent in a few moments. How's that?"

"That's fine, Dan," Mac replied. "They will be ready when you wake."

The next morning the men awoke to another pre-dawn reveille. Sullivan was the first to rise. He struggled in the dark to light the oil-lamp hanging overhead, and then unlocked the chain that secured his rifle to his bed. A stolen rifle fetched as much as two hundred rupees on the black market, a fortune to a local. With rifle thieves never lurking far from camp, it was therefore necessary to make it a court-martial offence to lose one's rifle, even if it was stolen.

"Roger, wake up!" Sullivan said loudly. He parted the netting and flaps to the front of the tent.

"I'm awake," Roger scowled.

Daniel forced himself upright, and found the dirt cool under his feet. He glanced to his right and noticed his polished boots just inside the flap of the tent. He rolled his head back toward Roger, and then parted his bunk's netting. "Looks like a mossie got you in the night." Daniel said. He was referring to the large mosquitoes that could always be heard trying to find a hole in their bug screens.

"Blast!" Roger said, running his fingers over his face. He tried to find the swollen bite that was sometimes followed by fever.

"I think you'll be all right, it looks like a small one. I guess it couldn't stomach your Irish blood," Daniel chuckled.

"I hope we can say the same for the bastards occupying Abazai!" Gerry added. He got up from his cot and stretched in the now cramped enclosure.

"I miss the Nappi," Roger admitted, after his fingers found the small welt on his unshaven cheek.

Their Nappi, or native barber, was one aspect of camp life that was difficult to get used to. While sleeping in their barrack's charpoy beds, the Nappi would shave the faces of the sleeping soldiers. It was the strangest sensation, Daniel once reported in a letter to Mary, to awake to a half-sleep and feel lather being applied and shaved off of one side of your face and then the other.

"I miss the Mess!" Gerry lamented the lack of a communal mess while on campaign.

"Another day of bloody bully," Sullivan groaned.

Daniel began putting on his cleaned ankle boots. "Well, let's get on with it," he said. He grabbed his twenty-five pound pack, his short Lee Enfield rifle, and assembled with the other men outside their tent. As the sun rose, their temporary camp came alive with the activities that preceded their columned departure. Before getting properly dressed, though, fit for another fifteen-mile march, they broke down their tent and folded it as best they could for the Bearer Corps to pick up later.

"We'd better watch ourselves when were around the P.O.," Daniel suggested. He and the rest of the men hurried through their breakfast.

"You watch," Sully agreed, with biscuit crumbs falling from his lips. "We'll be on report before the day's out."

"It's a good thing you're not dining at his table this morning," said Roger.

"Why's that?"

"Cause he'd have you up on charges for your table manners!" Roger laughed while ducking Sully's flying Bully tin.

Just then the bugle called for assembly. The men swung on their Khaki wool tunics and fidgeted with no less than five regimental buttons. Daniel grimaced as he struggled with the one just below his stand-and-fall Prussian collar. Their pith helmet was covered in the same khaki serge. It had a stiff peak and was secured by a leather chinstrap held by brass buttons on each side.

After addressing the 1st Battalion of the R.M.F. and the 2nd Battalion of the Gurkha Rifles, Colonel Quinn turned the force over to his subordinates, whereby orders were given to fall into a column formation. 'A' Company of the 1st R.M.F. were in front. By this time, the Bearer Corps had fallen in behind with the camp completely stowed and ready for its next deployment.

With the bugle to advance, Daniel dared a glimpse back at the now advancing column. A smile came over his face, as he saw the vision that was partly responsible for enticing him to enlist. Then turning his eyes forward, he mentally prepared himself for another grueling march, one that would test the endurance of most soldiers.

Fortunately for all, though, it was near the hour of noon when the expedition came to a halt. With Colonel Quinn mounted in front of them, Daniel and Sully could see the village ahead. They had stopped a strategic distance from their objective... Abazai.

CHAPTER FOUR

### Compelled to Act

He was wont to speak plain and to the purpose,

like an honest man and soldier.

William Shakespeare

Right then," Colonel Quinn said, after getting off his mount. He snapped his riding crop into his left hand, while casting a concerned expression toward the small village of Abazai. Colonel Quinn was a man at least a dozen years senior to his subordinate officers. His hair matched the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayans; his moustache stretched outward, coming to a point in mid-air, on either side. At first glance, his tailored disposition made him appear aloof, even detached. Yet if confidence became him, he would suggest it was born as much from his men's abilities, as his own.

A career officer of the Munster Fusiliers, his creased cheeks and protruding chin were hallmarks of his 1st Battalion, trademarks that were exceeded only by his raspy voice. His accent spoke for his Corkish roots, and thus the 'Chief' was a moniker offered when he was just a Captain. His men knew he would accept the Gaelic meaning of his surname with its intended esteem, and to his credit, he did so demonstrating as much pride in his regiment as his men's shared lineage. Daniel and Sully studied the village ahead, equally confident in their superior's ability to navigate the day's uncertainties.

Abazai was located on the Swat River, about fifty kilometres northeast of the Khyber Pass. Here, in the foothills of the Hindu-Kush Mountains, the Swat flowed with run off from the melting snows of the mountains that bordered Afghanistan and India's common frontier. Approximately 25 Pashtun families lived a peaceful life of farming, primarily on the north side of the river.

In 1852, the British had built a fort between Abazai and the foothills to the northwest. It was meant to protect against raiders advancing down the Swat River. In 1894, the fort was turned over to the local Border Police and garrisoned by about thirty men. Having been recently abandoned as too dangerous to defend, Colonel Quinn knew he would have to clear and safeguard the remaining inhabitants of the village before evicting the marauders from the old fort.

Knowing a repeat of the orders discussed at this morning's briefing were imminent, several officers came forward, including their Political Officer, Captain Henderson. They all looked on to the small village, which at the moment was showing few signs of life.

"Subadar-Major!" the Colonel shouted to the commander of the Gurkha's 1st Battalion. "I want you to deploy your forces to protect our right flank." He pointed with his riding crop to a position about one-hundred and fifty yards to the right of the small village. The terrain, over which they were looking, was relatively flat, with almost no vegetation. Being slightly lower in elevation, it was most likely a periodic flood plain of the Swat. Their strategic position provided a clear view of the village.

"Yes, Sir!" the Subadar-Major replied, before looking to where the Colonel was pointing.

"I make it about five-hundred yards to the foothills on our right. Would you concur?"

The Subadar-Major's head scanned back and forth quickly over the terrain. His uniform was the typical dark green worn by all Gurkhas in the British Army. "I make it about six-hundred, sir," he stated, in his Nepalese accent.

"Well, Major... you know these mountains better than I do," the Colonel admitted. "So please deploy your men with the understanding that I will be asking Major Richards to support your position with his artillery."

"Right!" Subadar-Major Gurung replied. There was a hint of pride in voice, as if empowered to use his own discretion.

The Chief continued. "With the river on the left, that should cover any escape around our flank to the right, I should think."

"Yes, Sir!" replied Subadar-Major Gurung, before he made his way quickly back to the three companies representing his battalion.

The Gurkha regiments, who were known to be fierce and courageous warriors, came from Northern India and Nepal. So highly regarded by the British Army for their fighting skills, they were called upon to fill as many as twenty battalions.

"Major Richards," the Colonel called out to the commanding officer of the 25th Mountain Battery.

"Yes, Sir?" the Major barked.

"Major, after your ten pounders are assembled, I want you to leave four of your cannons to my left, and the remainder I want in support of the Subadar-Major and his Gurkha's on our right."

"Right!" replied Major Richards, glancing toward both locations. He turned and motioned to his subordinates to unload the artillery, which were carried in pieces on top of their bearer elephants. This method of transport allowed the battalion's artillery to be deployed into any terrain, including mountainous.

"In addition, Major," the Colonel added, "from your position on our right, I would like you to range in distances in between the village and our old fort."

'Right away, Sir!' he replied, with confidence.

"Oh, and Major," the Colonel added. "Do stop short of our fort, will you?" he said, with a hint of concern. "You know how difficult it is the build anything in this part of the world."

"Of course, Colonel," the Major responded, returning the Colonel's smile.

"May I have a word, Colonel Quinn?" Captain Henderson sked. He looked as though the Colonel's orders were making him anxious. The Chief turned and directed his next comments toward the Political Officer. "That should be good for a start, don't you think, Captain?"

"Look here, Colonel," Captain Henderson blustered. "I must insist the use of force be our last resort!"

Colonel Quinn looked forward and followed the deployment of the three Ghurka companies under his command. "It may be your last resort Captain, but I can assure you it won't be mine." He confidently put his riding crop under his left arm, before taking his binoculars from his adjutant.

"I must protest, Colonel. The process of negotiations must be given a chance!"

"Then what do you propose, Captain?" the Colonel asked, while surveying the village.

"I suggest, Colonel that I venture forth with a small detail of your infantrymen."

"You mean to put my infantry in the line of fire? So you can use, what... words to disarm these hostiles?" The Colonel glared at the P.O. "Is that what you are proposing?"

The P.O. persisted. "I am suggesting, Colonel, by any means our goal must be to prevent bloodshed."

"An admirable objective, Captain, I would agree. But I'm more concerned about my men's blood than that of someone's who has committed a crime!"

"With all due respect, Colonel, at this point, your reports are still unconfirmed."

The Colonel continued to look through his binoculars. "I will concede to you that point, Captain."

"Then my detail?"

"Captain Jackson!" the Colonel shouted, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"Yes, Sir!" the Captain replied, coming to attention in front of the Colonel.

"Have Sergeant Bertrand take One Platoon of 'A' Company, and escort Captain Henderson to the village. You're to reconnoitre the buildings for any surviving natives and assist him," he said, glancing at Henderson with a pained expression, "in his attempt to negotiate a conclusion to this dilemma."

"Yes, Sir," said Captain Jackson. "Sergeant Bertrand!"

"Yes, Sir!" the Sergeant barked, having heard the Colonel's orders. "One Platoon, front-and-centre!"

Daniel with Sullivan, Gerry, Roger and the rest of One Platoon fell into formation behind Captain Henderson and Sergeant Bertrand. It was generally known that Political Officers wore two white stripes on their collar, indicating their intention to negotiate rather than fight. Placing Captain Henderson in the lead, coupled with the fact that he could speak several native dialects, raised his chances of engaging in dialogue before exchanging fire. Sergeant Bertrand wasted little time getting his detail moving.

The Colonel raised his voice for the P.O. to hear. "Captain Henderson!"

"Yes, Colonel," he responded, turning to look back at him.

"You have one hour. If I haven't heard from you by then, the time for words will have passed."

Captain Henderson turned back to face the village, and they proceeded to march the near two-hundred yards to the nearest building. Abazai was a collection of houses and buildings of the modest Kutcha type construction.

Although their dried mud-brick walls supported canopies of wood, thatch, dry earth and mud, at first glance it appeared as though some rooftops had collapsed. Those were the closest to a boat-bridge over a narrow section of the Swat. Here, the river was divided into two lesser tributaries. These two smaller channels essentially created an island between them, later reforming again into a single river downstream. Most of the houses to be searched were on the north, or right side of the river, with only several across the bridge on the left. If Captain Henderson were going to find anyone with whom to negotiate, it would most likely be at the centre area of the village, near the small boat-bridge over the Swat.

Having reached the nearest structure on the north (right) side, One Platoon broke into groups to clear the houses and buildings that had the appearance of being empty.

"Alright, men," the Sergeant stated, looking back and forth at One Platoon. "In groups of two I want you to start clearing these buildings. Take it slow. We don't want any of these bastards getting in behind us!"

"Captain Henderson," Sergeant Bertrand announced, in a loud hoarse-like whisper. Without realizing it, the Captain was already passed the first dwelling and getting ahead of the detail.

"Alright then, you lads be off."

"Captain Henderson!" he said, more loudly. Again, no response.

"Blast!" cursed the Sergeant. "That man never follows orders."

"What about those buildings on the other side of the channel?" Daniel asked, looking across the relatively shallow section of the river to his left.

"Yes, well," he said, realizing Daniel had a point. "Why don't you and Sullivan go back to a point where you can ford the river," the Sergeant paused for a moment and looked downstream. "There, just beyond that bend." He pointed to a distance about fifty paces. "You should be able to cross unseen at that point."

Daniel and Sully looked toward the same direction. "I should think so," Sullivan agreed.

"Get to those buildings as quickly as you can. By the time you've cleared them, we should meet you across the river near the bridge. Do you understand?"

"Seems straight forward enough," said Daniel, understating the risks involved. He glanced at Sully and shrugged.

Sully couldn't help extending Daniel's sense of brevity. "Do you think the P.O. will mind if anyone gets shot, Sergeant?"

"Check those comments, Private," Sergeant Bertrand scolded. "If Captain Henderson hears any gunfire we'll be in it deep with him." The Sergeant looked ahead, toward the buildings in front of him. "God damn it!" he cursed again. "Be off then. I've got to catch up with that bloody P.O."

Sergeant Bertrand soon caught up with Captain Henderson. He was still making his way toward what seemed to be the centre of the village. Frustration was now getting the better of Sergeant Bertrand. "Slow down, Captain," he growled. "The Colonel's orders are to wait until One Platoon has cleared the buildings in front of us!"

"I didn't hear that order Sergeant," the Captain replied, looking back and forth as he bypassed several dwellings.

"Yes, Captain, but if you don't mind me saying, standard procedure is standard for a reason."

"My intention, Sergeant, is to find who is in charge here as quickly as possible and bring this matter to a peaceful conclusion."

"At the rate were going," the Sergeant quietly said, "I'd like your assurance I'm going to get out of here in one piece!" He was referring to some tribe's propensity for grisly treatment of captives.

"Did you say something, Sergeant?"

"Captain, I insist we let the rest of the detail catch up with us!" The Sergeant was concerned with the growing distance between themselves and his supporting troops.

"If it makes you feel any better, Sergeant, I will take full responsibility for our actions."

Bert grunted a reply just as the centre of the village came into view. Venturing closer to the edge of a small clay-like building, the Sergeant noticed three men standing in an open area. The village centre was directly in front of them. A boat bridge over the Swat was on their left.

The Sergeant surveyed the site. Though something didn't seem entirely right, the Captain seemed all too eager to consider such concerns.

"I am a Political Officer!" Captain Henderson shouted in Sanskrit.

It bothered Sergeant Bertrand that the men appeared to be standing there waiting for them.

"I am here to negotiate the terms of your withdrawal!" He shouted again in the dialect that was common to the tribes of the Hindu Kush Mountains.

It only took another moment for the Captain and Sergeant Bertrand to notice the men's appearances bore the subtleties of a mountain tribesman rather than that of a local farmer. Their bearded faces were creased and rugged, while light-coloured turbans were wrapped tightly around their heads. The man in the middle wore a dark blue vest over his long sleeved shalwar-kameez. It loosely concealed a menacing dagger, one Sergeant Bertrand imagined could be pulled from its scabbard with little provocation.

"Peace meeting?" the man in front replied in broken English.

He stepped in front of the other two men. Both were armed with rifles. The village centre was bordered by buildings in a half-circle configuration. The boat bridge that spanned the closest channel on Captain Henderson's left put the tribal negotiator in front of him, lending him a strategic view of both sides of the river.

"You speak English?" Captain Henderson asked. He walked slowly and stopped a distance that left about twenty paces between them.

"Better than your Sanskrit," he said, with a suspicious smile.

Despite leaving his position of cover, the Captain seemed undaunted. "Do you have the authority to speak for your tribe?" he asked.

Sergeant Bertrand looked on from the protection of a building, slightly to the left of the Captain.

"I have their confidence," the man said calmly. His English was heavily accented.

"And where is your Commander?" the Captain continued.

"He has... how do you say... retired for the time being." The man tilted his head in the direction of the old fort.

"Retreated, you mean!" Sergeant Bertrand whispered to himself.

"I have been instructed to negotiate on my leader's behalf."

"And the locals from this village?" Captain Henderson asked. "Where are they?"

"They are being held to ensure the positive terms of our Jirga."

"They are within this village?" the Captain asked. "And they are all safe?"

"I can assure you no one has been harmed".

"Now we are getting somewhere," the Captain said, as if to himself. He turned with a smile and nod of confidence for the Sergeant.

With scepticism born from experience, Sergeant Bertrand grimaced while shaking his head slowly. It was obvious their lookouts saw them coming, that their strategy was to negotiate long enough to secure the escape of their main force. Sergeant Bertrand looked behind him, wondering when his One Platoon would finally catch up. Both he and Colonel Quinn were growing concerned about the impending deadline and the inevitable course of events that would ensue if it came and went without news from Captain Henderson.

"Captain Jackson!" Colonel Quinn hollered over his shoulder.

"Colonel!" the Captain replied.

Colonel Quinn squinted before looking towards the sky. With the hour quickly approaching two o'clock, the Chief was mentally adding the midday heat to the list of adversaries his men would soon face.

"Captain, prepare the rest of 'A' Company to cover the rearguard of One Platoon, should the need so arise."

"With pleasure, Colonel."

"Major Richards!" the Colonel hollered, suggesting to Captain Jackson there would be no further orders.

"Yes, Sir!" the Major shouted. He smartly presented himself to the right of the Colonel.

"Major, should I give you the order I trust you will be able to drop your rounds on the heels of the hostiles, should they retreat to the fort?"

The Major understood the Colonel's inference. "Just their heels, Sir?"

"Yes Major, too many casualties and I'm afraid our P.O. will have us all on report."

"Yes, Sir," the Major grinned. "That should eliminate any perception of safety within the fort!"

"Exactly, Major," said the Colonel. "Can you make the arrangements?"

"Positively, Sir," he replied. "Just give the order and we'll have them on the run."

By this time Captain Henderson had used up about half of his time allotted, and the expedition's main column had been at rest for about one hour. It was a longer duration, by half, when Mac found his friend unable to contain his desire to defy the Colonel's orders. With Mac trying unsuccessfully to dissuade him from leaving his position, Pasha began to sneak his way closer to the column's front. He knew this would allow him to gain a better viewpoint of his home village.

Pasha had good reason to be concerned with the day's outcome. Like other youths of his small village, he had left home at an early age to become a servant at the Nowshera encampment. There, he earned what little he could in order to help his struggling parents survive.

With Mac now close behind, Pasha knew the best vantage point from which to see the unfolding drama was to follow the river's edge to the point just beyond where Daniel and Sullivan had crossed onto the island.

As the two boys traversed the riverbank concealed, Daniel and Sullivan had made it to the first small structure on the island.

With hand gestures only, Daniel motioned to Sully that he could hear voices ahead of them.

Sully agreed with a nod, pointing to one of the huts. He then peered cautiously around the corner of the building, finding the way clear.

On a further signal, Daniel suggested Sully cover him while he moved forward. Daniel began to skirt the wall to the south. Without being noticed, he quickly found and ducked inside an open doorway. Only a moment later, though, he emerged with his hand over his mouth. He bent down, conceding to an involuntary convulsion to wretch.

Sully knew there was only be one thing that would prompt that sort of reaction.

Danny gasped for some fresh air. In two motions, he used the fingers of his right hand to indicate there were seven dead bodies inside.

Though they both had experienced the smell of decomposing bodies before, it was a sensory effect not easily exhausted from one's lungs, or mind, for that matter.

Sully dared to whisper a few thoughts. "I'm not sure the P.O. is not aware of this." He glanced in Captain Henderson's direction.

"I think we can be certain of that!" Daniel agreed. He straightened his back and regained his composure.

Sully looked forward to another small group of buildings. "We'd better clear those few ahead."

"I'll be right behind you," Daniel joked, suggesting his friend take the lead. Sully understood the inference, and he offered a smile, while pulling his sheathed bayonet. Daniel followed suit, and without securing them to their 303 rifles, they both proceeded cautiously. While approaching the next one-room dwelling, they looked across the channel with concern. They could see Captain Henderson talking with a tribesman whom was most likely trying to negotiate away the value of several lives. After evading detection again, the Daniel and Sully paused at the back of a small clay-like hut. It was cover enough to plan their next move.

Sully motioned that he would go around the south side of the house. He stopped, however, after taking several steps. A noise could be heard inside. Listening intently, he detected what he thought was the faint sound of moaning, possibly crying. At Sully's request, Daniel did the same and confirmed with a nod the unmistakable sound of someone in distress. Sully slowly slid around the wall to the left then poked his head around the corner. He saw one man holding a rifle, standing close to the hut's entrance. It was obvious he was preoccupied by the negotiations across the channel. A chuckle testified to the fact that the guard was well aware of what the P.O. was falling victim.

Realizing a diversion would be the best approach to gain the advantage they needed, Daniel grabbed a stone from the ground and demonstrated to Sully that he would throw it at the guard from the right side. Daniel hoped it would intrigue the guard long enough to leave his post and follow the distraction around the same side.

On Sully's nod, Daniel tossed the stone. He then quickly joined Sully, as they shuffled around the left side of the building. As expected, they found the entrance vacated. Upon entering the one-room house, Daniel and Sully were both taken aback by the condition of seven or eight women. Their hands and feet were bound, while gags distorted their pleas. With only a moment to spare, Daniel realized that freeing the terrified women would have to wait. He put his forefinger over his mouth as an indication for them to be quiet, but his attempt to persuade them into silence was only somewhat successful. The fate they must have endured over the last few days and nights seemed too much for their emotions to conceal. As expected, the guard returned in a matter of seconds. When he heard their muted cries for help, he extended his head inside to see what the commotion was about.

"Shut up," he said in Sanskrit. He looked to his right, but in the instant it took him to notice Daniel standing just inside the doorway, he felt the tip of Sully's bayonet prick his neck. He froze. Then without resisting, Sully disarmed him of his Martin-Henry rifle. The women, over whose misery he was more than happy to preside, took great pleasure in realizing the abusive words he had just uttered might be his last.

The man stumbled forward, and with Sully's bayonet tip still pressed to his heck, Daniel removed a knife from his waist scabbard. Daniel then covered Sully before using the guard's belt to bind his hands behind his back.

"Shh," Daniel whispered to one of the captives. He gestured with his right index finger to his lips.

Sully removed the gag from the woman who seemed to have the most compelling expression of appreciation in her eyes.

"We'll be back," he said quietly. "Stay here, we will come back for you," he repeated, with a reassuring tone. Without any verbal reassurance, the woman nodded as if she had some understanding of what the men were there to do.

Sully then took the gag and retied it around the mouth of the guard. He took great satisfaction at forcing him to his knees.

Daniel peered out the doorway. "All right, then."

"One more!" Sully agreed, keeping an eye on the bound guard.

The last structure was a farm building, which was much larger that the two they had just cleared. It was about forty paces away, and it appeared as though there were two armed men guarding its entrance.

Sully watched Daniel take another look at the barn-like building. "What's your plan for this one?"

"My plan?" Daniel asked.

"You're better at this sort of thing than me."

"I am, am I?' he joked. The bound women's eyes darted from Sully back to Daniel. "Alright, leave this one to me."

He quickly surveyed the area. "I'll take the guard at knife point from here," he paused for a moment, daring another glance at their objective. 'I'll walk behind him with my bayonet to his throat and..."

"And what?" Sully interjected.

"I was going to say, when I get over there I'll demand they surrender."

"Surrender?" Sully interjected. "They don't look like the surrendering type to me."

Daniel pushed his pith helmet off his forehead. "Well, if you've a better idea, mate, I'd be glad to hear it."

Sully tried to calm things down by lowering his voice. "Well, seeing as I'm the one with more experience."

Daniel became flustered. "More experience... with what?"

Sully was about to give a rebuttal, but found the glare of the bound guard adding to the eyes of the women. Daniel then realized their argument was getting them nowhere.

"Look," Sully continued, focusing back on Daniel. "I think I should take him out at knife point and when I have their attention, you slip out around back and cover my performance."

"Cover your performance... will I have to write up a review as well?"

'I think we'll leave that up to the P.O."

Suddenly, Daniel realized what Sully was up to. "You know, just because you're not married doesn't mean you have to take all the risks."

Sully's expression turned more serious. "Yes it does, mate. Besides, it's you that's a better shot."

Daniel looked at Sully in the eye. After reflecting on his friend's selflessness, he forced the guard to his feet.

"Then you're finally admitting it, that I'm a better shot?"

Sully only smiled.

As Daniel and Sullivan readied to take the next building, Colonel Quinn looked again at his timepiece.

"Captain Jackson!" the Colonel announced to the small group of officers standing close by.

"Yes, Sir," the Captain promptly replied.

"Captain Henderson's time has almost come and gone," he stated, pausing for a moment. "Will you see to it that we flag a 'Stand By' status to Subadar Major Garung and Major Richards?"

"Of course, Sir!" said the Captain.

"I would like to make sure they are ready if we don't hear anything from the Captain in the next few minutes."

In fact, the Political Officer's discussions with the tribal negotiator were going well, at least as well as Captain Henderson had hoped. It appeared as though he was about to bring the dilemma to a satisfactory conclusion. But, just as the Captain was about to seal their arrangement, the tribal representative and his two armed men were distracted by a commotion occurring some distance beyond the boat-bridge. The three of them turned to their right and looked over the channel. Having been prompted by the tribesmen, Captain Henderson and Sergeant Bertrand, with the rest of his One Platoon now behind them, turned to their left and looked at the unfolding drama led by Private Sullivan.

"What in the blazes?" Henderson gasped.

After walking out of the hut, Sully held his bayonet with his right hand while his left grasped the back of the tribesman's cloak. His Lee Enfield was loaded but slung over his left shoulder. Following right behind the tribesman, and using him as cover, Sullivan held the tip of his bayonet so closely to the man's neck that he drew a small trickle of blood.

Having drawn the guards' attention, Sully shouted: "Drop your weapons!"

Sullivan shouted further commands, as he walked in a half-circle, counter-clockwise direction. This allowed Daniel the necessary distraction to bolt from one hut to another. It wasn't long before he found cover at the rear corner of the large barn. While Sullivan made his way closer to the two men, one of the guards levelled his rifle at Sully; he took several threatening steps in his direction. Not surprisingly, Captain Henderson began to yell at Private Sullivan to stand down. At the same time, Daniel braced his rifle against the corner of the barn, levelling his rifle at the tribesman. His gun was now aimed at the man in front of Sully.

"Drop your weapons!" Private Sullivan shouted again, stopping approximately twenty paces from the guards still standing outside of the larger building.

While he wasn't sure if either man understood, he did hope the P.O. would hear his attempt to diffuse the situation peacefully. The P.O. looked on, though, as if his aspirations for a peaceful outcome were about to evaporate.

Unwilling to surrender, the first tribesman muttered something before unexpectedly shooting the man held by Sullivan. The bullet went clean through the man's chest. Killing him instantly. It also grazed Sully's left side. Sullivan couldn't help but let go of the dead man, allowing his body to collapse onto the ground in front of him. Sully then dropped to one knee and grimaced in pain. Plunging his bayonet into the ground, he grabbed the left side of his abdomen.

The first guard reloaded his rifle and advanced toward Sullivan. But just as he readied to finish Sully off, a shot came from Daniel's covering position. The first of two guards dropped a mere ten paces in front of Sully, dying instantly from a shot to his head. The second, still in front of the barn, fumbled with his rifle as the two men behind the tribal negotiator raised their weapons from the other side of the river. From a standing position, they levelled them in Private Sullivan's direction.

"No!... No!" Captain Henderson shouted. The situation was beginning to deteriorate faster than anyone had expected. He held out his hands as to try to calm an inevitable course of events.

"One Platoon... on my left. Cover Donoghue and Sullivan!" Sergeant Bertrand shouted to the men behind him. "On my right... cover Captain Henderson!"

The rifles of One Platoon rattled into action. The men took up covering positions as ordered.

As the guard still in front of the barn realized there was no other honourable outcome, he dropped his rifle and began to walk in a quick and determined manner toward Sullivan. He pulled a long sword from its scabbard. Sullivan, still on one knee, struggled to get his rifle sighted on the advancing man.

A second shot came from Daniel's rifle, only wounding and temporarily slowing the man's determined advance. Sullivan slung his rifle into position with only one arm and managed to get off a round, hitting the man just below his left shoulder. It was another wound not fatal enough to take the tough tribesman down. He closed the distance a further six or seven paces. Then, just as the man raised his sword, a final bullet from Daniel's rifle dropped him at Sully's feet.

Sullivan sighed and shook his head. He put his hand over what he now realized was only a flesh wound. He looked up at his approaching friend. "Did you have to be so bloody dramatic about it?"

While jogging toward Sully, Daniel instinctively ducked as a shot from the other side of the river whistled past them. He quickly helped Sully to his feet.

"I'll get to the women in the hut," Sully said loudly, grimacing at Daniel. "You try to release the rest in the barn."

With two well-placed shots from One Platoon, the two men behind the tribal negotiator fell, leaving several other hostiles still shooting from the buildings behind.

When Daniel got to the barn he found about twenty-five people waiting cautiously, close to the entrance. As if the trauma of their experience had diminished their ability to act on their own, Daniel's prompt was the requirement to send them running in the direction of Colonel Quinn.

Daniel and Sullivan ushered the villages to safety while still under sporadic fire from the other side of bridge. The rest of One Platoon forced their targets to retreat into the buildings behind them.

With Captain Henderson suffering from the shock of his disappointment, he stood seemingly paralysed by the unfolding calamity. The tribal negotiator, on the other hand, realized the time for negotiating had come and gone. Now indulging a sense of misplaced honour, one defined by a desire to die rather than being held to account for one's indefensible actions, he pulled a curved sword. It had been cleverly concealed behind his back. The distinctive sound of a sword being released from its scabbard drew the attention of both Captain Henderson, and, fortunately for him, Sergeant Bertrand. Descending into his preferred method of negotiating, the tribesman raised his sword. Yet after managing only two steps in Captain Henderson's direction, a bullet from Sergeant Bertrand's .303 dropped the man several paces in front of the still unresponsive P.O.

The men from One Platoon emerged from their positions as the fighting came to a stop.

"Sergeant Bertrand!" Captain Jackson shouted. He quickly emerged with more men from 'A' Company.

"Yes, Captain," the Sergeant responded. With the Sergeant beside him, Captain Jackson looked about at the situation before him.

"Well done, Sergeant!" the Captain commended.

Finally, Captain Henderson came to his senses. "Well done?" he shouted. "Well done!" he repeated, as the other men looked on. "Are you mad?"

"Yes, well," Captain Jackson added, "I'm sure it couldn't be avoided."

"I can assure you, Captain," Sergeant Bertrand said, "we did not, I repeat," he said, looking straight at the P.O., "we did not fire the first shot."

"Of course, Sergeant, I'm sure every precaution was taken," Captain Jackson agreed. "Where are the rest of the hostiles?"

"The men are clearing the buildings in front of us, Captain, but I'm afraid they may already be on the run for the fort!"

"Private!" Captain Jackson shouted to the nearest man of that rank. "Send word to Colonel Quinn that we will be clearing the rest of the village, and that he should be aware of hostiles trying to escape."

"Yes, Sir!" the private said. He then turned and ran in the Colonel's direction.

"Captain Henderson," Captain Jackson said loudly. "I suggest you retire to the rear while we clear the rest of the village!"

Captain Henderson was indignant. "I can assure you, Captain, that I will be making a full report when we return!"

"Let me know if you need any help with the names, Captain," Sergeant Bertrand rebutted, giving into his frustration with the P.O.'s insinuations.

Captain Henderson turned around and gave the two men a look of disgust.

"Watch it, Sergeant," Captain Henderson hollered. "Your men will be prominently mentioned, starting with those two over there!" he gestured, tilting his head in the direction of Daniel and Sullivan.

Captain Jackson was unintimidated. "Not to worry, Sergeant," he confirmed. "Now, let's finish it!"

As the men of 'A' Company cleared the rest of the village, Daniel and Sully joined the surviving villagers making their way towards the safety of the Colonel's position. They could hear the sound of 'ten pounders' landing on the other side of the village. Then, just as the rest of the Munster Battalion came into view, Pasha saw his parents walking slowly toward him.

"Mama... Papa!" he shouted in Pashtu. He ran forward in their direction.

A smiling Mac was among them. "Good show, Dan!" he said, seeing Daniel. "Bloody good show!" he repeated. "And you too, Sully. You don't mind if I call you, Sully, do you?"

"Of course not, Mac!"

"I have water, Dan. And for you too, Sully."

Mac smiled proudly, while offering his goatskin to anyone who needed a drink.

CHAPTER FIVE

### The P.O.'s report

I believe that virtue shows quite as well in rags

and patches as she does in purple and fine linen.

Charles Dickens

It was their first full day back from their expedition to Abazai, and there was a week's worth of office work to get caught up on. It was the Colonel's least favourite activity. He often joked that after surviving many skirmishes and several battles, he was now destined to die a slow death from a thousand paper cuts. Although Colonel Quinn preferred to wield his authority beyond the doors in front of him, he promised himself long ago that if he ever became commander of the regiment he would never miss an opportunity to leverage the authority of his office, especially to reward exemplary behaviour in the field.

As his new assistant, Private Withrow, came and went from his office, Colonel Quinn busied himself behind his large wooden desk. Papers were signed, meetings were planned and orders were issued, all the while Captain Henderson's report lay on his desk. It was during afternoons like these, in the days after an expedition, that the Colonel considered recommendations from his own officers as well as others. Today though, it was the comments of others that continued to linger in the back of his mind. A knock came to his office door.

"Come in," the Colonel loudly stated. He looked at the P.O.'s report on his desk and shook his head. It was the part of the job he disliked the most, being the bearer of bad news.

Private Withrow entered the room. "Private Donoghue to see you, Sir," he announced.

"Tell him to come in," the Colonel ordered.

Withrow opened the door wide. Private Donoghue marched in and came to a stop just in front of the Colonel's desk.

Daniel saluted as he came to attention. "Sir!" he barked.

"At ease, Private." The Colonel remained preoccupied by the work in front of him for a moment or two. Lifting his head to acknowledge Daniel, he tossed his spectacles on the desk. With only a glance, he drew Daniel's attention to the report in from of him.

"I've read the P.O.'s report, Private." The Colonel picked up the document, sat back, and opened it. He flipped through a few pages before continuing in a serious tone. "There seems to be a couple of names that figure prominently."

"Yes, Sir!" said Daniel. He stood in a respectful fashion with his pith helmet held under his right arm.

"Yours is one of them, Donoghue," the Colonel stated, looking back up at Daniel. "Your friend, Sullivan, is the other."

"I suppose we've not been mentioned favourably?" Daniel asked, trying to prevent a smile from gaining a foothold on his mouth.

"That's putting it mildly. Look, Donoghue," the Colonel began, getting up from his desk. A large window behind him looked out onto the camp's compound. "I'm not sure if you can appreciate the difficulty I find myself in, from time to time."

"I'd rather not, Sir!" Daniel quickly realized his tone may be taken as insubordinate. "I mean, if you don't mind me saying, Sir," Daniel added, trying to recover from the Colonel's momentary glare.

"Of course not, Donoghue," the Colonel said. His tone and demeanour became less official. "You have my permission to speak freely."

"I didn't mean anything by it, Sir. It's just, I've never found the need to..." Daniel stopped mid-sentence. "What I'm trying to say is that I trust your judgment. You've always been fair with me, Sir."

"And you with the regiment, Donoghue. I've just been going over your file, and I'm hard pressed to find an incident where you haven't represented the regiment in the most favourable light."

"Thank you, Colonel."

"Yes, well, I wish I could say the same on behalf of Captain Henderson."

"He is entitled to his opinion, Sir!" Daniel retorted.

"Yes, he is... but unfortunately he thinks I am compelled to act on it. The bloody arrogance," the Colonel blurted.

"Sir?" Daniel interjected.

"I don't mind saying, it pains me to consider any recommendations, disciplinary or otherwise, that any P.O. makes."

"I'm sure it does, Sir."

At that moment, the Colonel's attention was drawn to the right side of the room. The door to his personal chamber opened just enough for the Colonel to recognize his presence was being requested.

Colonel Quinn glanced at Daniel. "Please excuse me for a moment, will you?"

Daniel only nodded.

The Colonel then left the room through the opened doorway. Having left the door slightly ajar, Daniel could hear the Colonel talking quietly with someone in the adjacent room. Only a moment passed, though, before he returned.

"My apologies, Private."

As the Colonel made his way over to his desk, he looked as though he had something on his mind. His demeanour turned somewhat introspective. He paused for a moment and looked at a framed picture on the wall next to his desk. It was a compilation of his predecessors.

"Do you ever wonder, Donoghue, how you'll be remembered?"

Daniel thought only of his family. He didn't respond.

"Clive, Coote, Roberts. They've left their mark on this country, haven't they?"

Colonel Quinn was referring to British Officers whose names were synonymous with the British East India Company. Going back to the mid-seventeenth century, they represented a lineage to which the Munster Regiment was proud to lay claim.

"I'm sure the men will not soon forget you, Sir."

Daniel's superior smiled. "I appreciate your sentiment, Private."

The Colonel stepped behind his desk and refocused his thoughts. "Well, Donoghue, it is Captain Henderson's intent to hold you to account for his interpretation of your actions at Abazai."

"I see."

"While I think we could withstand anything the P.O. could throw at us, I think I have a solution that should be pleasing to everyone... except Captain Henderson, of course."

"Everyone, Sir?" Daniel glanced over to the Colonel's antechamber door.

"Yes, it seems you have someone in your corner with even more authority than I!"

Daniel seemed surprised. "The Major General, Sir?"

"No, Private," the Colonel laughed. "I'm talking about my wife!"

"Your wife, Sir?"

"Yes, I suppose I should explain. Some time ago, a native family arrived at our gate. You know how these things go, Donoghue. I didn't see them myself, but apparently they were desperate. They insisted a better life for their children existed beyond their village. To make a long story short, my wife took their two young daughters under her wing. The Bearer Corps took on the boy."

Colonel Quinn breathed heavy sigh and stepped away from his desk. He looked out the window, across the compound.

"She has grown quite fond of them, you know... my wife, I mean," he said, turning briefly toward Daniel. "Yes, it seems you managed to save the girls' parents yesterday. And my wife is insistent that her appreciation be shown for that!"

"They were from Abazai, Sir?"

"Yes, they were." The Colonel paused, as if to indulge a few personal feelings. "I hope you don't mind me speaking to you this way..."

"Not at all, Sir. You've always been more than an officer to us all."

The Colonel hesitantly smiled and then nodded. "I was going to say that despite the fact that my wife has been unable to have children of our own, her unrelenting goal is to someday see those two girls reunited with their parents." He continued to gaze out onto the compound.

"Well then, Colonel, I think we should find a safe home for their mother and father."

On Daniel's response, the Colonel's demeanour turned more serious. "Yes... well, that'll be a job for me... not you, Private."

"Of course, Sir," Daniel said, referring to the Colonel's ability to carry out such a task.

"No, Private. That's not what I mean." The Colonel watched a small detachment of men march by the window. "Did you see the new recruits?"

"I didn't, Sir."

"With the all the comforts of home and they want to come here!"

"As did I some time ago."

"How long has it been, Donoghue?"

"Two years, Sir."

"Two years is a long time to be away from your family."

"It is, Sir."

The Colonel glanced back at Daniel's file. "You've put in for a transfer, I see."

"It seems I've completed my Regular Army requirement, Sir."

"Yes, Private, but you know how much it pains me to lose an experienced man."

"I understand, Sir."

"Well, recent events have got me thinking." The Colonel looked at Daniel and then walked briskly toward his office door. He opened it, and called for his assistant.

"Private Withrow, will you please come in to my office."

The Private marched in and offered a crisp salute. "Sir!"

"Private Donoghue, meet Private Withrow."

The new Private stood stiffly in the centre of the room.

"Private Withrow is new to India," the Colonel paused a moment, as the young private remained expressionless. "He arrived only yesterday with several other transfers from Aldershot.'"

"If I may ask the Private, Sir, how's the 2nd (Battalion) doing?"

"Don't bother, Donoghue," the Colonel quickly stated. "You're going to find out for yourself!"

"Sir?" Daniel gasped.

"Private Withrow is your replacement!"

"My replacement, Sir?"

"You're going to get that transfer, Donoghue. And it's with great regret that I say it's to the Reserves!" The Colonel handed Daniel an envelope. "These are your orders."

The Colonel turned to Private Withrow. "Thank you, that'll be all, Private."

"Yes, Sir." Private Withrow saluted again before marching out of the room.

Daniel looked down at the envelope and realized there were not one, but two.

"And the other, Sir?" Daniel looked at the Colonel.

"The other is for Private Sullivan. He's still got some Regular time to do, but he can do it with the 2nd at Aldershot as well."

The Colonel walked from behind his desk and started making his way to the door. "And, I suppose I should mention... your Hearing, Private, has been scheduled for the day after tomorrow."

"I see."

The Colonel swung his office door open. "That's why I want you on the train first thing in the morning!"

Daniel was stunned. He struggled for the right words. "Sir, I don't know how to thank you."

The Colonel opened his office door. "You can thank me by being on that train in the morning!"

Daniel started for the doorway then paused in front of the Colonel, "Thank you again, and best wishes to your wife, Sir!"

"Likewise, Private!"

After shaking hands, Daniel turned to leave. When the door closed, the Colonel placed his hands behind his back. He slowly walked over to the window behind his desk. Looking out onto the training grounds, he recognised the look of disbelief on Daniel's face. After watching Daniel look over his orders, Colonel Quinn smiled.

"I'm going home!" Daniel shouted, before dashing off at a full sprint to his quarters on the other side of the compound.

~ ~ ~

"I can't stand this any longer!" Daniel said to Sully, from his less than comfortable hammock.

"I'd like to report our accommodations as being completely unsatisfactory!" Sully joked.

Daniel tilted his heads upward and Sully followed suit. They looked on to a sea of hammocks slung from their ship's ceiling. With his insulted senses now entirely overwhelmed, Sully closed his eyes. The narrative of misery accompanied weeks of intolerable and unsanitary conditions. Those that were not snoring were bemoaning the loss of their sea legs, something that had happened more than a fortnight ago.

"Mention the food while you're at it!" Daniel added.

The thought of eating caused Sully to put his left hand to his mouth.

They had been on the troop ship Rohilla for nearly three weeks. Conditions that were wretched at best were made worse when rough seas required the hatches to be battened down, securing the men below. The hammocks were hung so tightly together that, as a result of the ship pitching and tossing, it was difficult to sustain any uninterrupted sleep.

Sully managed to recover, somewhat. "How many more days do you make it, Danny?"

"Three or four, I imagine."

"That should put us near the Rock, shouldn't it?" A hint of optimism suddenly permeated Sully's voice.

"That means rougher seas ahead, though!"

Sully rolled his eyes before looking over at Daniel. Though he didn't appreciate that last comment, he did recognize the look on his friend's face. It was expression that preceded the birth of an idea.

"What are you thinking?"

"Do you think it's night time?"

"I couldn't say," Sully moaned. As the ship suddenly pitched, the look of seasickness returned to his face.

"I think we should find our way up top!" Daniel said.

"You go ahead," Sully growled. "I'll follow in a few minutes."

"Promise you'll try, though," Daniel suggested. "It'll do your spirit some good."

Daniel rolled his blanket and toppled himself out of his hammock. He navigated his way through the others trying not to bump anyone from their suspended suffering. Daniel looked upward and found a hatch to the upper deck. At first his legs wobbled on the ladder, but they soon carried him up to the open deck above. Fresh air hit his lungs as if with instructions to exhaust the foulness that had laid siege to his chest. His reawakened mind looked to the starry and moonlit sky above him. It was as if he had never seen them this way before.

A seasoned soldier looked around the deck as if he was a boy again. Moving about quietly, he was abhorred by the fact that, if caught, he would be sent to the depths below, his spirit descending with every step. Under the shadows of a brilliant moonlight, Daniel evaded detection and a fate worse than rounds ranged in upon him.

Finding the forward starboard railing, he gazed straight ahead to the familiarity of a previous posting; the Rock of Gibraltar. Seeing it this time from the deck of the Rohilla, the navigation point represented something more important. Daniel knew he was only several days from home. The ship would soon turn north and the sun toward the south and, as if buried beneath a period of extended dormancy, soon his life could resume.

Daniel found a level spot on which he could lie. He wrapped his blanket around himself and enjoyed a few moments of peaceful rest. He lay there looking up, reflecting on how lucky he was. That the source of his strength to carry on over the last two years was most likely resting, like him, beneath those same stars. He longed to experience again that special sense of contentment, the one he felt while looking in on his sleeping boys. It was that same representation of unconditional love he experienced when joining his Mary beneath the covers of their bed. Daniel closed his eyes and drifted off with the thought of being blessed more than any man should expect. And within that blissful feeling he fell asleep and found a familiar dream replaying in his mind.

~ ~ ~

"Everything your 'eart, mind and soul requires boys... you can find within you!"

"Even during your most challenging moments," Father Benoit continued, during his class at St. Mary's Orphanage. "I want you to remember what 'as served me so well over the years."

"Seek and ye shall find, boys!" Father repeated, with the subtlety of his Belgian-French accent. "Seek and ye shall find. I'm sure you 'ave 'eard that one before."

He paced in front of the boys, while his fingers scratched his forehead.

"But, find what?" he asked, stopping abruptly. He turned to engage his young class.

"What did He mean when He said, 'Seek and ye shall find?'" He paused for a moment, waiting for a response. "Does anyone 'ave an answer?" Father Benoit asked. From the front of his class, he looked out over his subdued audience.

"Does anyone know who or what I'm talking about?... Or where you can find it?"

Disappointment began to fill the void left by the absence of any answer.

"Surely someone has been paying attention!" said a flustered Father, with a half-hearted chuckle.

A brief silence further tested the young priest. Yet only after his composure had been fully tested, and the answer to his own question had been forced unwillingly to the tip of his tongue, his faintest hopes were rewarded.

"Daniel!" Father exclaimed, pointing to the only boy with a raised hand. "Daniel! You 'ave the answer?" Father's tone became enthusiastic.

Daniel paused for a moment, as if for dramatic effect. Although it was not his intent, it was undoubtedly the result. All the boys in the class turned and stared at him.

"Seek and ye shall find what, Daniel?" Father asked calmly.

Daniel swallowed a portion of his shyness. "The Kingdom of God!" he bravely announced.

"Yes, Daniel! That is correct!"

Father Benoit smiled with exuberant relief. He closed the distance between himself and Daniel and then clasped his hands before inquiring further.

"And where can we find 'dis glorious Kingdom, Daniel?" Father asked, shining the limelight on the young boy.

Daniel glanced to his left and then his right, not sure if he should offer anything further.

Father Benoit prodded him on. "Where, Master Donoghue, may we find God's wonderful Kingdom?"

Daniel looked at Father Benoit, wishing he hadn't put him on the spot. He knew the answer Father was looking for, but he could feel his face turning successive shades of red.

Some of the lay instructors at St. Mary's were disciplined to the point of being cruel. They didn't seem to mind exposing a weaknesses in their young students, especially if it meant extracting an answer. Father Benoit was different, though. He could be demanding of his students, but he was also known for being much less severe.

Among his finer qualities, which Daniel imagined a real father would impart on his son, the Reverend was not afraid to think for himself. He could easily make the Head Master frown when he sat in on Father's class. Without putting his finger on it exactly, Daniel somehow sensed that Father Benoit should have been born sometime in the future.

It felt as if the spectacled priest had been staring at Daniel for an eternity, though only seconds actually passed.

Sensing the awkwardness of the moment, Father Benoit looked over his large class and delved into what was known for getting him into trouble, a personal reflection on his lesson. Daniel instantly felt his blood reverse its flow, from his face back into his extremities.

At first Daniel listened intently, but when the Reverend starting citing scripture, he suddenly found himself looking through, not at his amiable instructor. The Priest's favourite Bible passages began to echo off the unpainted walls, like those of the First Epistle (Letter) of John. Chapter 4, verse 8 always tested Daniel's understanding of love. 'He that loveth not, knoweth not God; for God is Love,' the young priest often recited. But if that were so, Daniel wondered, why did so many have to struggle under an indifferent shadow? In his heart, he knew there was more to it.

Daniel's mind was, indeed, somewhere else. Though slouching over one's desk often ensured a physical reprimand, even by Father Benoit, Daniel was staring off into nothingness when suddenly he found himself under the glare of two steely eyes. Father Benoit was standing close by, staring down at him.

"You 'ave found the answer in your thoughts, Master Donoghue?"

Daniel instantly became more attentive. "Ah... no, I mean, yes, Father!' he stammered. A chorus of snickers resounded within the room.

Daniel had learned that spiritual laziness was the first rung on the ladder to sloth, a deadly sin. Sloth, Daniel said to himself. The sound of the word stuck in his head, like the closing latch on the confessional door.

"Well," Father Benoit smiled. "Which is it, young man?"

Somehow, Daniel found the courage. "The Disciple, John said... 'The Kingdom of God is within you!'"

He looked directly at Father. "It is within you... within me... and everyone here in this room."

Father Benoit straightened his back and cast a broad smile in Daniel's direction.

"Magnifique, mon jeun ami. Magnifique!"

CHAPTER SIX

### Home sweet home

To get the full value of joy

you must have someone to divide it with.

Mark Twain

"Look, Sully," Daniel said, nervously. "I'm not sure this is a good idea!"

"Too late now, Mate. We're committed!" Sully bristled.

The sidewalk of Hogarth Lane reverberated with the unfamiliar sound of hobnailed ammunition boots. It was obvious that Sullivan's stride was infused with the confidence more familiar to the conceiver of a plan rather than the follower. Daniel remained unconvinced, however. He wasn't sure whether Sully's homecoming surprise would even work. Mary wasn't easily deceived. It would require perfect performances on both their parts, and Daniel knew he was no actor. In fact, he loathed the limelight. He quickly glanced at the fog-enveloped street lamp, realizing how the mist would help conceal him. A modicum of courage was instilled.

"If you wake the boys, this won't work!" Daniel said.

Sully stopped Daniel in his tracks. "You're not hoisting the whitey on me all ready, are you?"

They stood staring at each other for a moment. Daniel adjusted his pith helmet, and then ran his fingers over the stubble on his face. "How did I ever let myself get drawn into this?"

He glanced down the street and recognized he was a mere dozen doorways from the house he hadn't called home for more than two years. Then looking at his wristwatch, he confirmed the boys should be fast asleep.

Daniel gave into his nerves. "Look, I'm just going to open the front door and say I'm home!"

He lamented the fact that writing home before his departure would have been a wasted effort. The letter would have likely taken longer than he to arrive home.

"Aw, Danny, where's your flare for the dramatic?"

"I lost it on the Rohilla!"

"Look, yours is a very small part. The rest is up to me. If this comes off as planned, it'll be a homecoming she'll not soon forget."

"It's if it doesn't that I'm worried about."

"Come on," Sully prodded. "It'll be over before you know it." He pulled on his friend's arm and leaned in the direction of Mary's house. Daniel acquiesced, and the two of them continued on down the sidewalk.

"Right, then," Sully whispered, stopping in front of 10 Hogarth Lane, "I'll be needin' that poem!"

Sully took a breath of fog-laden air as Daniel pulled a small piece of paper from his left breast pocket. He held it tightly, as if there was still time to back out of the scheme. "Now promise to reassure her right away that nothing terrible has happened to me. That will be the first thing to come to her mind when she sees you at the door!"

"Don't worry, Danny. I planned that to be my opening line. Now get out of sight."

Daniel stood in the same spot that his boys waited for Mr. Deevy. His expression looked somewhat sheepish, reflecting his indecisive demeanour.

After taking the last few steps to the front door, Sully adjusted his khaki tunic, before knocking on the door three times. He looked back at Daniel and scowled. With a wave his hand, he gestured for him to get out of sight. Daniel removed his helmet and concealed himself behind the brick gate pillar and the shrub beside it.

"Hmm," Sully muttered to himself. After knocking again, this time just a little harder, he could hear the response he was looking for: an audible rhythm of someone descending a staircase inside.

"Who's there?" Mary quietly said through the closed door.

For Sully, the sound of a sliding deadbolt was a good sign. Mary opened the door a mere two inches and peered through the narrow gap. The uniformed soldier standing on her landing caused her to swallow deeply. Her heart rate instantly increased.

"Yes?" was all she could manage. The man standing outside seemed all too officious in nature. She watched the soldier remove his helmet. "He's not here about Daniel... he's not here about Daniel," she repeated to herself silently.

Before Sully could even open his mouth, Mary had already fast-forwarded to the darkest conclusion her soul could muster. It was the last line of defence a soldier's wife dared to employ to lessen the blow to her nearly stilled heart. She momentarily dropped her guard and allowed the door to drift open. If Daniel could have anticipated the depths of imagination the wife of a soldier sequesters, he surely would not have agreed to this.

Daniel couldn't help thinking, for Sully's sake, this had better be worth it!

"Ahem... let me say first that Daniel is safe."

"Pardon me?" she stuttered, trying to regain her senses. Her composure was in the same way ill-fitting to sustain conversation as was her night gown to entertain guests.

Sully repeated. "Daniel is safe, Mary."

"Of course he is," Mary exclaimed. Her sense of relief was all too willing to replace the void left vacated by despair.

Mary gripped and held the door as if with purpose enough to slam it, if required. "And how might I ask, do you know my name?"

"My name is Jimmy Sullivan!"

"The Jimmy Sullivan?"

"One in the same," he quickly responded. A hint of pride was evident in his posture.

"You're Danny's friend, Sully?"

"I am,"

"Well then Mr. Sullivan, whose bloomin' idea was it to wake a soldier's wife at this hour of the night?"

Sully was instantly put back on his heels. "I'm sorry, mum, it's just Danny asked me..."

"You heard me! Do you have any idea what you just put me through?" Mary blurted out her words just in time; her lungs recoiled and drew an emotional breath.

"Again, I'm terribly...,"

"And where is Danny?" Mary interjected, glancing up and down the road. By now she had Sully trying to recover to a more defensible position.

"I was trying to say, Mary, do you mind if I call you Mary? It's just I feel like I've known you for some time."

Under the weight of her disapproving glare, Sully backed up, stepping down one of the stairs leading to the front door.

"Mary is fine," she said, with a less confrontational tone.

"Well, Mary, as I was passing through on my way to my sister's, I agreed to stop by and present you with something from your husband."

"Present me with something?"

Mary's attention was drawn to a light having been lit within the front room next door. "It's all right, Mrs. Usher. You can go back to bed now!"

Her nosey neighbour could be seen peering through her parted curtains.

"Mr. Sullivan!" Mary repeated abruptly. Sully seemed distracted.

"Yes, mum... I mean Mary," Sully looked back at Mary, trying to give her his full attention.

Mary crossed her arms. "You were going to present me with something from my Daniel?"

"I'm sorry for all this, Mary. It's just... I thought it might be nice if I delivered this poem to you myself."

"A poem?" Only then did she notice a small envelope in Sully's left hand. Her heart softened. "You came all this way just to give me a poem?"

Having run the gamut of extremes, Mary's demeanour had finally transitioned into one more considering. She now seemed receptive enough for Sully to proceed with his plan.

"That's so very thoughtful of you, Sully! Is there any word of when my Danny might be coming home?"

"Yes, Mary, there is, but I'll come to that after I read you the poem!"

"Read me the poem?"

"Yes, if you'll grant me this one indulgence, Mary."

Sully looked down toward his feet as they stepped backward down the last stair.

"If it's all right with you, I promise you a performance you won't soon forget!"

Sully looked up at Mary, still standing in the doorway.

"Well I suppose," she said, pensively. Her eyes went side to side in an effort to see if they were alone. She saw a glow now emanating from Mrs. Usher's front parlour window.

"Then I'll ask you, Mary, that you come out onto the landing just in front of the door... so you that you can hear me better."

Again, Mary looked to her left and then right. "Are you sure this is necessary?" She let the door drift open further, and took a pensive step out onto the small front landing. By now another neighbour, this time on the other side, opened her front door. A second housewife couldn't help looking on with curiosity.

Sully stood several paces below Mary in the dim glow of the street light. With the pleasant feeling of an inspired plan coming together, a broad smile came over his face. He held out the envelope, and, with the flare of a skilled performer, began to remove the small paper.

"Now, if you can, I want you to imagine your husband's words being spoken by his voice."

Mary released a nervous smile. Mary appeared vulnerable, and Sully couldn't help reflecting on how lucky his friend was.

"And, if I may suggest, I think the effect will be greatly enhanced by the closing of your eyes."

Mary had not entirely relinquished her sense of intuition. "Oh, I'm not so sure about that," she said.

"Well, maybe when the mood tempts you You never know what might happen."

Either way Sully felt assured by his readiness to employ plan B if necessary. With two neighbours now looking on, Sully began the performance.

"The poem is entitled... "A Soldier's Wife."'

With each verse, Sully planned to take successive steps backward.

He began to read:

~

'Someday I will earn, I once told her

A living with less for you to shoulder

Than the lonely life

Of both mother and wife

While married to an Irish Soldier

~

Your Mother wished that you commit

To one more worthy, I might admit

That your father would thank

Their respect at the bank

Much more than your lowly Private

~

Having met after taking the King's Shilling

Our offspring to raise, you were willing

To hold while I'm posted

Proud father I've boasted

That both roles as parent you are filling

~

Our son's hands at work, you might prefer

A painter or carpenter, to them you infer

Though if you gave me a daughter

My blessing I would offer

With true love I'd be happy for her

~

Then, with only the final verse to be spoken, Mary finally relinquished any remnant of vulnerability, and closed her eyes.

~

'Part of you and my country I take when I go

Love, honour, respect, on foreign lands I sow

With one always nearest

Your love I hold dearest'

~

While Mary's eyes remained closed, Daniel stood up and spoke the final words.

~

'Until I return, Oh Mary, I love you so!'

~

For an instant, Mary thought her mind was playing tricks on her. She opened her eyes with astonishment. Daniel stood in Sully's place with his helmet under his right arm.

"Daniel?" Is that really you?"

"In the flesh."

"Your home!" Mary said, almost crying. "You're finally home."

In one single motion, Mary leapt into her husband's arms. Sully's face beamed as Mary's was buried into Daniel's shoulder. His audience of two neighbours cheered quietly while dabbing their tears. Though Sully took a few moments to bask in their adoration, even his eyes were showing signs of emotion. He disguised a sniffle with his hand, as Daniel passionately kissed his wife.

"I'm home, Mary. I'm finally home," Daniel's voice shuddered.

Mary gasped. "I can't believe that you're really here!"

"I can hardly believe it myself."

Sully cleared his throat. "I think this calls for a toast!"

Daniel released one arm and patted Sully on the shoulder. "A toast to your performance my friend!"

Mary made an effort to dry her tears. "I've been saving something for this very occasion."

"Some good old Irish whiskey?" Sully hoped.

Daniel laughed, shaking his head. "I can't believe you did it, Mate!"

"All I can say is you're lucky you had a cooperative audience," Mary suggested. She turned toward the front door.

"You mean a captive audience, don't you?" Sully asked.

Daniel reached out for Mary's hand, stopping her just before the first step. "You suspected something, didn't you?"

"But Mary," Sully said, "that performance was flawless."

"I'll give you that, Sully, but a woman's intuition is not easily, uhm... what's that term you soldiers use... out-flanked?"

"Then you did have suspicions?" Daniel laughed.

"Well, let's just say I didn't want to spoil Sully's moment."

"My moment?" Sully exclaimed.

Daniel kissed his wife. "You are a wonderful woman, do you know that? Thanks just the same for playing along."

Sully appeared reluctant to concede any acclaim. "I would admit a cooperative audience is imperative to great performance."

Daniel and Mary just stared at him.

"Will anyone be joining me for a whiskey?" Mary asked.

She put her arm around Daniel's waist and turned to go inside. When Daniel did the same, Mary offered him a lustful smile. After stepping into the house, Daniel took a deep breath in through his nose. The smell of home was almost as intoxicating as his wife. Sully was wise enough to give the pair a few moments to themselves. Stepping passed them, he headed for the kitchen.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll find it for myself."

Sully didn't know it, but he was the only one listening. Mary was pleasantly taken aback when Daniel nudged her up against the wall. Her robe parted in the middle, just enough for Daniel to see down her loose-fitting nightdress. Mary let out a short, involuntary breath then smiled. She couldn't help responding to her husband's visual cue. Daniel could have taken her right there.

"It's in the cupboard next to the stove," Mary shouted to Sully.

Daniel looked into Mary's eyes. They were stunning, the same shade of green that had been imprinted upon his soul.

"Here it is," Sully hollered. "Now all we need are three glasses."

Mary was about to answer Sully, again, but her lips were seized by Daniel's. Sully looked around the corner, and quickly realized his friend needed more time.

Daniel grabbed Mary's waist, as Mary held back her desire to moan. Several heavy breaths were exchanged before Mary made an effort to pull away. Daniel's glare was full of passion, then somewhat diffused when he noticed his wife's eyes glance up to the top of the second floor staircase.

Daniel took a moment to calm himself, before turning to look in the same direction.

"I think they would love to be woken by their father," Mary said.

Daniel nodded. "Will you fix Sully a drink? He could probably use one."

Mary and Daniel both looked toward the kitchen, smiling at the sound of Sully rummaging through the cupboards. It was obvious that Mary didn't want to let her husband go. Her eyes seemed intent on consuming every wrinkle on Daniel's face, however the sound of her cupboards being turned out was too hard to resist. She shook her head before prying herself free from Daniel's embrace, their hands only parting at their extreme reach. Then entering the kitchen, she playfully announced: "Come on Mr. Shakespeare, let's get you that drink."

Daniel quietly went up the staircase that was adjacent to the front entryway. After opening the boys' bedroom door, he stood in its threshold for several moments. I never want to leave again, he thought to himself. He couldn't help remembering his own boyhood experiences. Memories of wanting, but never receiving his father's love and affection tempered the moment. These boys will not grow up without a father, he committed to himself. He looked at the cross hanging above their bed.

"Dad?" Dave whispered, having woken to a half-sleep. He moved his head slightly off the pillow. Though a slight glow of light accentuated his father's silhouette, it was not enough to reveal the identity of who was there.

"Is that you?"

"It is, Dave. I'm home!"

"Steve!" Dave whispered. He shoved his brother. "Steve, wake up... wake up will you?"

"What is it?" Steve asked. Disinterested, he rolled away from his brother's prodding.

"Wake up. I think I'm having a dream!" Dave tried to focus his eyes on the figure standing at the door.

Steve began to wake up. "A dream of what?"

"Of Dad." Dave rubbed his eyes with the knuckles of his hands.

"I'm not a dream, boys!"

"Are you having the same dream, Steve?"

"I am! Dad, is that you?"

"It is!" Their father stepped forward. "I'm home, boys. I'm finally home!"

"Dad!" they shouted. Steve was the first to throw the covers off of their bed.

Daniel set his helmet down beside him, descending to one knee. The boys lurched forward and dove into their father's arms.

"I can't believe it's you, Dad!" Dave whimpered.

"I just got in boys. Our patience has been rewarded, hasn't it?" Daniel's voice reverberated with emotion as well.

"It has, Dad!" Steve replied, in kind. "Just as you said it would."

"Now, let me get a good look at you both!" their father said. Daniel stood up and took a step backward. "Why, you're a couple of strapping lads now, aren't you?"

Steve and Dave smiled at each other. It felt as though their father's words carried the weight of the world. Contentment filled their souls; their family was complete once again.

"You were just boys when I left," their father suggested. "Now look at you. You're young men!"

"And let us look at you, Dad," Steve said.

Seeing their father in his Khaki uniform filled the boys' eyes with admiration. Daniel picked up his khaki helmet and placed it on his head.

Dave's smile beamed. "You're the picture of a perfect soldier, Dad!"

"As are you, my brave young soldiers."

The boys hugged their father again.

"It's so nice to hear you say that in person!" Steve stated, clenching his eyes.

Only a moment passed before voices could be heard on the first floor.

"Is there someone talking with Mom downstairs?" Dave asked.

"Yes, and you're never going to guess who it is."

Daniel took off his pith helmet and placed it on Dave's head. It was a bit wobbly, but Dave was delighted beyond words.

"Is it Sully?" Steve asked.

"Would you like to meet him?"

"Would we?" Dave exclaimed.

"It's hard to believe you're home, Dad!" Steve added.

The boys followed their Dad down the stairs, but as Dave descended to the last step, he began to look around. Hearing the commotion, Sully interrupted his conversation with Mary and looked down the hallway.

"What are you looking for?" Steve asked.

Dave's eyes kept searching. "Dad's rifle... every soldier has one."

Overhearing Dave's reply, Sully laughed. He smiled at Daniel. "Out-gunned again, eh mate!"

"Come on, boys. I want to introduce you to my good friend."

Sully stood up to greet them. "You must be Steven and you are David. Did I get that right?"

"Do you have a rifle?" Dave asked.

"David Donoghue." Mary barked. She stood up from her chair. "That's not how we welcome our guests."

"That's alright," Sully suggested. "No, Dave, I haven't. Your father and I left our rifles at the camp armoury in Aldershot."

"I've wanted so much to hold one." Dave's frown would have normally tugged at his mother's heart, but not this time.

"Maybe when..." Daniel began.

"Not on your life, young man!" Mary interjected. "There'll be no guns in this household!"

Daniel tried to recover under Mary's glaring eyes.

In that instant, both Mary and Daniel could feel his return would require some adjustment.

Dave quickly forgot about his fascination with rifles and joined in the toasting and celebrating. It was Irish whiskey for the adults and tea with left over bits of slab toffee for the boys. At the end of a long night, Sully plopped himself on the chesterfield in the front room. At the same time, the boys enjoyed a bedtime experience they had sorely missed, being tucked in by their father.

Daniel talked about being in the Reserves now, and that he would only have to leave once in a while, on the weekends, to keep up with his training. And since the 2nd Battalion of the Munters was now stationed at the Aldershot Barracks in Hampshire, he wouldn't have to make the long journey back to the regiment's home depot in Tralee, Ireland. Needless to say, Steve and David were pleased. Daniel wanted their bedtime talk to last forever, but he could see they were getting tired.

"How long will Sully stay?" Steve asked, trying to suppress a yawn.

Daniel could hardly believe he was sitting, again, on the side of his boys' bed. "He'll have to report for duty as soon as his leave is finished." Daniel glanced at Dave and saw his eyes were more closed than open.

"Will he be here when we get up in the morning?"

Daniel couldn't help smiling. "He will. Now, why don't you and your brother get some sleep? We can talk more in the morning."

Steve nodded before rolling onto his right side. Daniel was happy to see them drift off knowing their mother wouldn't want them to hear what was going to happen next.

Mary was sitting upright in bed reading when Daniel closed the door behind him.

"The boys are fast asleep, and Sully is snoring up a storm."

"I heard." Mary watched Daniel struggle to undress.

He seemed to be doing everything at once. Mary's eyes darted up and down, while watching his hands go from one piece of clothing to another. He undid two tunic buttons and then switched to pulling off a sock. After kicking his helmet into the corner he gave up on the buttons and began to slip his tunic over his head. All the while, Daniel hopped, smiled, and grimaced.

Mary couldn't help laughing. She dropped her head into her covers, her eyes pleasantly invigorated by the spectacle. Her husband would soon be naked in front of her and she could hardly contain herself. Her schoolgirl giggle caused Daniel to laugh in turn. The suspenders surrendered, the trousers were tossed and the skivvies, almost skewered, were absconded. In one unromantic gesture, Daniel threw himself into bed and under the covers. Only one piece of clothing stood between them.

"You men think you're masters at everything."

Daniel didn't know what to say. It didn't matter though. As the Chief once put it... the time for words was over!

Mary suddenly lifted her blanket. She put her hand beneath the sheets, and with one fluid movement, her nightdress was pulled up and over her head. It was off. Mary's laugh was throaty and seductive. As the non-descript female covering floated to the ground beside the bed, Daniel's eyes went wide with excitement.

Mary helped the bedcovers descend to her waist. Daniel's eyes followed her hands down toward the object of his desire, but as Mary's arms were straightened, so did they nudge her breasts inward, accentuating them.

Mary tucked her chin into her chest, further opening her beckoning eyes. Daniel could hardly absorb the moment. The wonderful woman lying in his bed would not have to be relegated to a dream anymore.

His eyes moved, as if in steps, before they gazed into hers. Her long dark hair framed the subtlety of every gesture, as it fell onto her shoulders. "My God you're a beautiful woman," he shuddered.

Daniel recognised Mary's coy smile, the crinkle of her nose, before she slid herself into his favourite position. Daniel gently got on top of Mary, their eyes inseparable from each other's. A sensation was reborn; Mary's skin glided beneath Daniel's as if it were their first time. Yet, after only a moment, Daniel lost himself within a familiar rhythm.

He stared at his wife like never before. Her chest heaved, her chin was forced upward, and her pupils seemed to disappear beneath her eyelids. And in that instant, Daniel relived the love that was theirs. It was wonderfully physical, and rewarding, but it was also much more than a word, more than an idea, or the focus of a passage in a book. It was what they could achieve together and only exceeded by what they would do for each other. In that moment, Daniel found the bond of love the height of any human experience. And in the apex of his desire was discovered a commitment: he swore to himself they would never be torn apart again.

Daniel breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and then looked down into Mary's undiminished eyes. "I hope you're not tired tonight!" she said, winking at her husband.

Daniel only smiled then began kissing his wife on her neck. Mary smiled, as if involuntarily, and then threw her arms up over her head.

"The night's... only... begun!" he said, in between kisses.

It was the next morning when Dave whispered to Steve: "Should we wake him?" They stood beside their father, still sleeping in his bed.

Steve shoved his brother. "Mom said to... so go ahead!"

"Why don't you..." Dave whispered, when suddenly they were caught off guard.

"Roarrrr!" their father yelled, as he grabbed both of them and pulled them into the bed with him.

Steve and Dave both immediately began laughing, as their father remembered his boys' vulnerability to being tickled. With one arm around Steve and the other around Dave, they rolled back and forth.

Daniel wrestled with his two sons, from one side of the bed to the other. "What is it that your mother wants?" he said, laughingly.

The boys were consumed by giddiness. "Stop... stop!" was all Steve could say.

"And what have you to say for yourself, Master David?"

Their father had gained the upper hand. While still on the dishevelled bed, he scrambled to his knees. Steve and Dave lay before him, one on each side. "Have you had enough?" he growled.

"Yes... Yes!" they both said, overlapping each other. They looked at their father with broad smiles.

"Alright then," Daniel said, lying back down between them. "What did you say your Mother wanted?"

The three of them looked at the ceiling for about half a second when Steve blurted, "Get him now, Dave!" Steve and Dave rolled over onto their father, pinning him. They all laughed loudly.

"Ahem!" was the expression that stopped them all in their tracks.

It was Mary standing in the doorway. A large white apron covered the lower half of her nondescript grey dress. All three boys lay on the bed staring at her, frozen in the throes of their epic battle.

Mary leaned on the doorframe. "I thought I sent someone up here to wake your father for breakfast!" Her mouth was given to a smirk.

"We tried, Mom, honest!" Dave seriousness was complimented by Steve's.

"Ahuh!" Mary retorted. "I bet you did."

"It was a gallant effort, Mum!" their father stated, coming to their defence. "It's just..."

Mary's expression turned distrustful. "Yes?"

"They were ambushed!" Daniel suggested.

"Well, let me just say that there's an ambush of another sort going on at the breakfast table. So if you don't hurry up there'll be nothing left!"

"Uh-oh!" Daniel exclaimed. "We'd better get down there boys. Your mom's right. Sully can eat!"

The sheets went flying as everyone scrambled out of bed. While Daniel struggled with putting on a shirt and a pair of trousers, the boys passed their mother on the way down the stairs.

Finding Sully the picture of contentment, Daniel sarcastically asked: "Have you left anything for us?" Sully was sitting at the table in one of its four chairs. With his legs crossed, he held the Chiswick Times in his two hands.

"Is it too early for a cigar, Danny?" Sully inquired. He watched the three of them take their seats at the table.

"Sorry, Sully," Mary spoke up, while making her way to the stove. "I smoked the last one over a year ago!"

They all laughed. Sully shook the crisp paper and turned the page.

Daniel suddenly felt presumptuous. "Oh, I'm sorry, love, is there anything I can help you with?" He quickly pushed out his chair and joined Mary. He gently caressed her back with his left hand. "Mmm... Scrambled eggs?"

Mary returned his smile. "There's more warming in the oven."

"Best breakfast I've had in years," Sully added, flipping a corner of the paper down.

"I slipped down to my mum's before you woke." Mary admitted.

"Anyone up for a spot of tea?" Daniel asked.

"I'll have another," Sully announced.

"What's the paper on about today, mate?"

"Let's see, there's the Irish Rebellion," Sully stated, from behind the newsprint. "And it seems the Suffragettes are still hard at it!"

Steve looked up from the table. "What's a Suffragette?"

Sully lowered his paper. "A Suffragette is..." he began, before being interrupted.

"A Suffragette, Steve," Mary interjected, not trusting Sully's interpretation, "is a woman who is trying to get women the right to vote." Mary continued explaining, while serving breakfast. "You see, boys, in today's world only men are allowed to vote people into public office." Mary glanced sarcastically at Daniel and then Sully.

"Then, what's public office?"

"Good question, Dave," Sully spoke up. He leaned over towards Dave. "I think most of us are in the dark about that one!"

Steve welcomed the plate from his mother's hand, while offering his own reply. "It's where people make decisions for you, isn't it?"

"Why, Steve. I'm impressed!" Daniel said. Steve returned his father's smile.

"That's correct, Steve," his mother said. "And by people, you would be referring to men, of course. You see... we're not demanding that women should be allowed to sit in Parliament... although based on what I hear, I think most women could do a better job of it." She placed a second plate in front of Dave. "All we want for now is to be able to vote for someone who will represent the interests of both men and women."

"Seems fair, Mom," Dave replied.

While Mary put the infuser into the teapot, Daniel joined Steve and Dave with his own plate of sausage, eggs and buttered toast.

"Well, then why won't they let you, Mom?"

"Why don't they let her?" Sully interjected. His tone was dangerously sarcastic. "Why, I should have a few things to say about that!"

Startled by Sully's response, Mary almost upset the teapot on the way to the table.

Daniel threw his friend an unsympathetic glance. "You almost made her spoil the tea."

"That may not be the only thing spoiled here," Mary retorted, after plopping the teapot on the table. Defiantly, she sent an angry look in Sully's direction. Having read many articles on the issue herself, she was aware the issue was more complicated than it seemed; it wasn't, as Sully was insinuating, just a chauvinistic attempt to deny women a sense of empowerment.

Many male politicians were in favour of some sort of female suffrage. Most of the Liberal Party supported it. A number of leading Conservatives did as well. The question most widely considered; to which group of women should the vote be given. Age, marital status and property ownership were thresholds considered, however neither party was anxious to entrust a demographic that might put additional votes in the other's ballot box.

Although Mary was frequently frustrated by her mother's traditional indifference to the issue, she knew there were as many as fifty women who were now sitting on borough and county councils in England and Wales. There were also hundreds of women elected to the boards of Poor Law Guardians. Although the tide was slowly moving in their favour, it was not turning quickly enough for some.

Several issues divided the movement; the use of violent tactics being the most publicly captivating. Some claimed it would keep the issue in the public eye, but it also had the effect of painting many of its political supporters into a corner. With industrial strife and a brewing civil war in Ireland, the government couldn't be seen to be giving into militant behaviour. Mary respected the courage of the women on the front lines, though, and it was times like these that she could feel their passion surging through her veins.

"What do you mean you have a few things to say about that?" She put both hands on her hips. "I'm listening!" she taunted.

Daniel turned to Sully. "Are you sure you don't want to reconsider your position?"

"Yeah, Sully," Steve piped up. "Why shouldn't my mom be allowed to vote?"

Sully winked at Daniel. "Well, Steve, what if I said... because she's a woman!"

"What!" Mary hollered. She laughed in disbelief.

Dave seized the opportunity to get a word in. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, Dave," Sully began his first volley, "it's just... some men think women aren't capable of understanding the larger issues facing the nation."

"Larger issues!" Mary blurted out. "I couldn't care less about your... larger issues!"

"That's exactly what I mean," Sully said, brazenly. "Most women are not concerned with issues beyond their own household."

"Beyond their own household" Mary repeated. "Well, that's very patronising! What I was trying to say..."

"Sorry, Mary," Daniel interjected. "Would you mind... I think Steve has something to ask Sully?"

Mary took offense to being stymied. "Don't I get to say anything?"

"We're saving the best for last!" Daniel said, smiling.

"Uh-oh!" Sully recoiled.

"Go ahead Steve, you had something to say?"

"Do most men understand the larger issues?"

Mary burst into laughter. "Quite right, Sully," she retorted. "Isn't the larger issue facing most men, should I get a full pint, or just the half?" Mary put her hand on Daniel's shoulder as they both laughed together.

"All right... go ahead and laugh!" Sully said with a smile. "I guess I'll have to yield on that one."

"I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that Sully."

"Oh, come on Danny. Don't prod him on," Mary looked as though laughter had taken most of the fight out of her.

"All right," Sully said, pausing to collect his thoughts. "What if I said, most men think that women are too emotional to make the difficult decisions?" Sully sat back and folded his arms. "Back to you, Mary."

"Difficult decisions?" Mary repeated. "Women make difficult decisions all the time."

Dave tried to get a word in edgewise. "Can I say something?"

"Sorry, David, you're going to have to hold that thought. I haven't had a chance to say anything. Look Sully, if you don't think having children in this day and age is not a life and death experience!"

"There it is again!" Sully interrupted.

"There is what again?" Mary repeated.

"You can't have a meaningful discussion with a women beyond five minutes and they bring up the having babies thing!" Sully smiled at Daniel.

"You were a baby once, Sully!" Steve chimed in.

Mary couldn't help herself; she started to laugh. "Yes, and what a hard time your mother must have had with you." The boys and Daniel couldn't help exploiting the opportunity.

"All right... all right," Sully seemed to admit defeat.

"By the way Sully," Daniel interrupted his friend. "You used the term most men, are you really one of most men?"

"Well if I ever was, I certainly am not anymore!"

"Look, Sully," Mary began, with a respectful tone. "I don't know whether you were just playing devil's advocate, but it's not only about picking a representative based on our understanding of what's facing the nation."

"But isn't our responsibility to make an effort?"

"Of course it is, Sully. But it's also about the right to choose the person that best represents what is important to the voter... man or woman!"

"Well said, Mary," Daniel stated.

"And if those issues are limited to what's going on in someone's household, then so be it. In my opinion, those are the most important issues facing any nation."

Sully smiled, and slapped the table. "That's it! I need a sign." He looked across the table. "Do either of you boys know how to spell Suffragette?"

Everyone laughed, except Dave. "Why don't you just borrow mom's?" he asked. The room went silent. David felt the harshness of his mother's scowl.

Fortunately for Mary, the awkwardness was relieved when her mother appeared at the kitchen door. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything," she stated.

"Oh hello, Mum, I didn't even hear you come in," Mary said.

Daniel and Sully got up from their chairs. "Hello, Mother," Daniel said. Sully politely nodded.

"Mary told me this morning you'd come home."

"Yes, we got in late last night."

"Well, I hope you didn't stop your lively discussion on my account."

"That debate would have to be my fault!"

"I'm sorry, Mum. This is Daniel's mate, Jimmy Sullivan."

"Pleased to meet you," Sully said. "Likewise," Ellen nodded.

"Sully was just playing devil's advocate with regard to women having the right to vote," Mary suggested.

"That was brave of you, Mr Sullivan. So should I ask whose argument carried the day?"

"We won, Gran," Dave proudly announced.

Sully quickly chimed in: "Not so fast, young man, we haven't heard from your father yet... what have you to say old man?"

Mary smiled, coyly. "What say you then, dear husband?" she asked, putting him on the spot in front of his mother-in-law.

"Well, if you must know where I stand, I would say that if in God's eyes we are all created equal, who are we to judge any differently?"

Sully's gasp was filled with disappointment. He glared at Daniel. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

Mary interceded on her smiling husband's behalf. "See, Mum, it wasn't a bad choice marrying a Catholic, was it?"

"I guess not," Ellen admitted. "Though, he would have made a good Protestant too." She turned her attention back to Sully. "Well, Mr. Sullivan, it's been a pleasure meeting you."

"And you as well," Sully replied, nodding politely.

"I'll leave you young folk to sort out the pressing issues of the day," Ellen said, before turning to leave. "Don't worry about me, I can let myself out."

"Thanks, Mum, we'll see you this evening."

Daniel grimaced. "This evening?" he whispered at Mary.

"That small commitment bought you your sausages, Mister," Mary chided.

Sully laughed, while pushing his chair under the table. "I suppose I should be on my way as well."

"Ah, don't go, Sully," Dave spoke up. "Yeah," Steve agreed, "We want to hear some stories about you and Dad in India."

"Thanks, boys but, I'm not sure if I've worn out my welcome."

"You know you're always welcome here, Sully," Daniel stated.

"Ah... come 'ere, Sully," Mary said, extending her arms. "Any friend of my Danny's is a friend of mine."

Mary and Sully exchanged a heart-warming embrace.

"Easy now," Daniel joked. "Come on then, I'll walk you out."

After stopping on the front walkway, Sully looked at Daniel. "I guess the next time we'll be seeing each other is when you report for training at Aldershot."

"I suppose so. Hey boys, would you like to give Sully a big hug before he leaves?"

Steve and Dave ran over and wrapped their arms around him.

"Ah, thanks, lads. And thank you Mary, it was a real pleasure to finally meet you."

"The pleasure is all ours Sully, honestly. And thank you very much for bringing my Daniel home safely to us."

"Just doing what any friend would do," he said, looking longingly at Daniel.

The pair shook hands before Daniel joined Mary's side. With his arm around her, and the boys close by, the four of them watched Sully walk down the middle of the dirt road.

CHAPTER SEVEN

### The future unfolds

To know what you prefer, instead of humbly

saying Amen to what the world tells you that you

ought to prefer, is to keep your soul alive.

Robert Louis Stevenson

"Frankly, I feel bad for their three children!" Mary said.

The family had been invited for dinner at Ellen and Patrick's house, just around the corner, on Sutherland Road. It was Sunday, July 5, 1914, and Mary was referring to the recent assassination of the Archduke Ferdinand and his wife Sophie of Austria.

"I just don't understand this world anymore," her mother stated, having returned from the kitchen. The two women had just finished clearing the table and were waiting for the kettle to boil.

Ellen and Patrick's home was similar to that of Mary and Daniel's, only larger. A staircase to the second floor ran front to back, essentially dividing the dwelling in two. On the left side were the front parlour and kitchen in the rear. On the other, a dining room adjoined another area at the front of the house, the focal point of which was Ellen's piano. Two wing back chairs supplemented the comfort of the music room. An additional room attached to the back of the house was rentable, but for now was used as a collect-all sort of space.

"Why did they have to kill her as well?" Mary added. She put the milk and sugar near the centre of the table.

"I'm sure they were not intending to kill the Duchess," Patrick suggested. He was seated at the head of the table. "I think they were trying to express their displeasure with Austria-Hungary. It's as if the old Ottoman Empire was a carcass to be picked over by so many buzzards."

Mary's father was a distinguished looking man of nearly sixty. At five-foot ten, his greying hair and moustache complimented a confident demeanour. Having risen to a position of middle management, he was a knowledgeable and well-read man, one who had the aura of being very comfortable with his present stage in life.

Ellen looked at her husband. "When you say they, you are referring to...?"

"Serbian assassins, of course."

"But didn't that crisis take place some time ago?" Mary asked.

Daniel concurred. "Yes, wasn't it five or six years ago?"

"Why would they wait this long to do something about it?" Ellen inquired, looking between Patrick and Daniel.

In fact, the region to which Patrick was referring had been defined by turmoil for some time. In 1908, the Annexation Crisis erupted when, despite Serbia's protest, Austria-Hungary extended their control of Bosnia-Herzegovina by annexing them from the crumbling Ottoman Empire. Further, the two Balkan Wars of 1912-13 saw Serbia conquer Macedonia and Kosovo, taking the two provinces from Turkey and Bulgaria.

~

Map courtesy of the Department of History, United States Military Academy

~

With lines on the map in a state of flux, Patrick felt it was safe to assume the motivation for the assassination of the Archduke Ferdinand was an attempt to break southern provinces away from Austria-Hungary. The goal? To absorb them into a Greater Serbia.

"It's hard to know what goes through the mind of these types of individuals, but one thing is for certain, the Archduke was to be the successor to his father's Austrian throne."

"Were they worried about what he would do once in power?" Mary asked. Her attention was drawn to the faint whistle emanating from the kitchen. "Don't worry, Mum, I'll get it," she said. "You should let me wait on you once in a while."

"Oh, thank you, dear."

"It's an ethnically diverse region," Patrick continued, looking at Daniel on his right. "I think it was either simple retribution for the annexation or... it's meant to further their aspirations in the region."

"I am sure they will sort it all out amongst themselves," Daniel suggested. "They do have the culprits in custody."

"Yes, and to think this all took place as a result of a wrong turn!"

Daniel frowned at Patrick. "A wrong turn?"

"Well, the way the paper is reporting it, the Archduke and his wife survived the first attack, but it seems there were several conspirators involved. The first bomb that was thrown didn't kill the Archduke. He and his wife were spared, but some in the procession weren't as lucky."

"So, when were they killed?" Mary asked, after returning with the tea.

"They were apparently on their way to the hospital to visit those who were injured in the first attempt. I read the driver of the Archduke's car made a wrong turn and had to reverse himself in order to turn around. It was at that point that one of the assassins happened upon them. It seems, in the first attack, this chap was positioned further down the road. After learning the attempt failed, he simply went to have some lunch. When he walks out of the establishment, what does he find?... The Archduke's car is right in front of him. Princip was his name, I think."

Ellen couldn't believe the turn of events. "What a stroke of bad luck!"

"I'll say," Patrick continued. "It was at this point that he pulled out his revolver and shot them both dead!"

Mary shook her head and began to pour the tea. "It's hard to believe these sorts of things hang on a twist of fate. I mean, what would have happened if the driver hadn't made the wrong turn?"

Daniel slid his empty cup over toward Mary. "Would they be alive today, as we speak?"

"Well, I'm sure not much will come of it." Patrick said. "If anything, it will probably turn out to be a regional conflict, another Balkan crisis perhaps. Ultimatums will be exchanged, high-level negotiations will ensue. Nothing more than that, I imagine."

"Tea, Father?" Mary asked.

"Thank you," Patrick smiled.

"Mother?" May gestured with the teapot.

"Yes, I think I will," Ellen replied. "Grand explanations aside, I'm going to say a prayer for those three orphaned children."

Just then, Steven and David ran into the room. They stopped beside their father's place at the table. "When's dessert?" Steve asked. He and Dave playfully jostled for position next to their father.

"I'll be bringing it out in a moment, boys," Mary replied. "So sit down like young gentlemen, will you?"

With the aroma of plum pudding provoking their agreement, they hastily bounced into their chairs.

"Who are you going to pray for, Gran?" Dave asked.

"I was talking of three children whose parents died the other day." She took a sip of her tea then offered an expression as if she just remembered something. "Speaking of praying for someone, Father Morrison asked for the congregation to pray for Mr. Ledeskare."

"The name sounds familiar." Patrick placed his cup back in its saucer.

Ellen's cup made the same familiar clink. "He's the husband of the organist at church."

"Oh, yes," Patrick replied. "I remember him now." Sitting back in his chair, he paused and rummaged through his wit for something humorous. "The bottle's the victor, is it?" To Ellen, Patrick's chuckle was merciless. She frowned at him before Steve piped up.

"Does God answer all your prayers, Gran?"

Ellen was more than happy to change the subject. "Most of the time He does, Steve."

"You should remember to say thank you to your grandmother for making your favourite dessert," Mary insisted.

"Thank you, Gran," Steve said, after his mother passed him his serving.

Though Dave's eyes spoke for his stomach, he waited patiently for his piece. "Then, what happens when he doesn't?" he asked.

"Doesn't what, Dave?" Mary asked, on her mother's behalf.

"Answer your prayers?"

"Well, David," Ellen reflected. "It's not for me to question God's intentions for us. In one way or another we are all part of His divine plan."

Mary passed Dave his plum pudding. "Do you really think God has our lives all planned out?"

"Well," Ellen began, before being interrupted by Dave. "That's not what Dad thinks!"

An awkward silence overtook the room.

"No?" Ellen asked, looking from Dave then to a smiling Daniel.

"Maybe I should explain."

"Maybe you should," Patrick said, glancing questionably at Ellen then Mary.

Daniel smiled as he collected his thoughts. "Where should I start?"

Ellen turned to Mary with a troubled look. "I'm not sure I like the sound of this!"

"Give him a chance, Luv," Patrick grinned. "I'm anxious to hear this one!"

Daniel began. "Well, as you know, Mary has been wonderful in my absence. The boys have been receiving their sacraments..."

"Yes, that's all very nice," Patrick said, pulling a cigar from the inside pocket of his blazer. "But what have you been teaching them?"

"I've been trying to teach the boys something that I was taught. It's based on a simple principle that can be found in the Bible."

"And that is?" Ellen interjected.

"And that is... what, Steve?" Daniel looked to his son. He was seated beside his mother, on the other side of the table.

"You mean that God is Love, Dad?" Steve answered, between mouthfuls.

"That's right, Steve, and Love is God!"

Mary presented Daniel with his dessert, but when he tried to take it from her hand, she held on tightly. She and Daniel exchanged smiles before she gently let go.

"All right," Ellen agreed. "I recall a passage or two in John. I suppose I should look those up sometime."

Patrick lit his cigar then filled the space above him with exhaled smoke. He adjusted himself in his chair, looking as though he was just getting started. Patrick considered himself a Protestant, but rarely attended service with his wife. And although his was a faith founded more on questions than answers, Mary appreciated the fact that her father always relished a meaningful discussion.

"But are you suggesting God is only Love?" Patrick continued. "Couldn't He be other things, as well?"

Mary quietly made a suggestion to her mother. "I could look that passage up for you, if you'd like?"

"Oh that's not necessary, have your dessert first."

Mary leaned toward her mother and whispered: "No, I don't mind," then slowly got up from the table.

After taking another draw from his cigar, Patrick seemed invigorated by a thought. "But if God is Love, as you suggest, how do you reconcile that with the fact that we are all created in God's image?"

Daniel was about to offer an explanation when Steve made an announcement of his own. "I'm finished!" The sound of Dave's fork dropping to his plate brought Mary's attention back to the table. "Me too," Dave blurted.

The boys' eyes pleaded for dismissal.

"It's all right," Ellen suggested.

"Are you sure?" Mary asked, after taking the Bible out of a bookcase.

"Oh yes, I'm sure they don't want to be bothered with this sort of conversation."

Mary acquiesced. "Just let me know if you're going outside."

Steve and Dave wasted no time in bolting from the room.

Daniel looked humorously introspective. "You know, I've often thought about that one. Being created in God's image."

"And?" Patrick prodded.

Ellen looked as though she wanted to reprimand her son-in-law, but held her tongue.

Daniel detected her mood. "I'm sorry, Ellen. I should be more respectful of the Old Testament. If I may be so bold, I would suggest that it is our understanding of love that is cast in the image of God."

Ellen responded. "You mean to say... if God is Love, then..."

"Then our perception of love," Patrick interjected, "is cut from that greater cloth."

Daniel watched Mary sit back down at the table. "I like to think human love is somewhere on the path which leads toward that perfect example."

Mary smiled at her husband. "So we are a work in progress, then?" she said, opening the Bible.

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose, yes," Daniel agreed,

"And God's love is a perfect love," Patrick added. He tapped his cigar on the edge of his dessert plate.

"You know I don't like it when you do that!" Ellen scowled.

"In a perfect world, there would be an ash tray on this table."

In between turning the pages, Mary threw a smirk in her father's direction. "No one here defines the epitome of perfection, father," she rebutted, smiling.

Patrick would never admit it, but his daughter's spirited comments sometimes hurt. To cover the trace of any emotion he took another puff from his cigar.

Daniel feigned a grin and tried to move the conversation along. "Did you find that passage you were looking for?"

"I did," Mary said. While looking at her Bible, she slid her right hand across the table, subtly placing it on top of her father's. With that gesture, everything was forgiven.

"Here's one," she said. "John, Verse, 18: There is not fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love."

"I suppose every ill-conceived thought is in some way born of fear," Ellen reflected.

Patrick exhibited an air of contentment. "As was that Serbian plot, I suppose."

CHAPTER EIGHT

### The Precipice

The torment of precaution often exceeds

the dangers to be avoided. It is sometimes

better to abandon ones self to destiny.

Napoleon Bonaparte

It was a beautiful Sunday evening, August 2, when Daniel found himself standing at the end of his front walkway. It was obvious Mary was on edge, as she fidgeted with the front door lock. Her light blue dress was shoe-length, and it was complimented by a white, lace-embroidered scarf. After joining Daniel and the boys on the sidewalk, all she could do was roll her eyes. They were on their way to Mary's parents' house to drop off the boys when they found the short distance an entanglement of thought.

With both Patrick and Ellen's endorsement, it was a periodic custom of Mary and Daniel's to enjoy a couple of hours with friends at their favourite establishment. The Lifeguardsman Pub was located at the London end of Hogarth Lane.

Steve was first to break the silence. "Do you have to work tomorrow, Dad?"

"No, son, it's a bank holiday."

Patrick managed to get Daniel on at the Hammersmith Bus Depot as a coach painter. Although it was a job that required a certain level of skill, many workers, including Daniel, had to enjoy a Bank Holiday as an unpaid day off from work.

After turning the corner onto Sutherland Road, Daniel took Mary's hand. He was dressed in a cream coloured long sleeve shirt, which topped a pair of light brown trousers. She glanced at him, then his casual dress, and said nothing. As they continued walking, Mary knew in her heart she had reason to be nervous.

With the murder of Archduke Ferdinand on June 28, the 'July Crisis' began with Austria blaming the assassination on the Serbian government. Although the culprits were in custody, accusations of higher involvement resounded. Seizing the opportunity, Austria deployed a plan intended to prevent Serbia from further interfering with its expansionist intentions. To that end, Austria negotiated favourably and received support from Germany should negotiations with Serbia dissolve into a limited war between those two countries.

Germany estimated at the time that Russia and France were not ready for a wider conflict, and that Britain would not intervene in a war over a Balkan State. With those expectations in mind, Austria designed and sent on July 23 an ultimatum of punitive terms that would undoubtedly be rejected by Serbia. Over several days of negotiations, Serbia agreed to all but a few of the most onerous demands.

Meanwhile, British Prime Minister Herbert Asquith summed up Britain's perspective with these words:

"...the situation is just about bad as it can possibly be. Austria has sent a bullying and humiliating ultimatum to Serbia, who cannot possibly comply with it, and demanded an answer within forty-eight hours-failing which she will march. This means, almost inevitably, that Russia will come to the scene in defence of Serbia and in defiance of Austria, and if so, it is difficult for Germany and France to refrain from lending a hand to one side or the other. So that we are in measurable, or imaginable, distance of a real Armageddon. Happily, there seems to be no reason why we should be anything more than spectators."

Within days, Mary and Daniel learned that, despite Serbia's desire to avoid a confrontation, their efforts remained fruitless. On July 28 Austria declared war on Serbia. Following that, and contrary to Germany's expectations, Russia mobilized its army in support of her ally, Serbia. Russia then requested France, another of her allies, to do the same. By now the threat of a wider European conflict seemed inevitable.

Mary adjusted the pins that held her hair up in a tight bun. After arriving at the front door of her parents' house, she said to Daniel: "Mother and father will be wondering what you are going to do."

Steve could perceive something unusual in his Mother's voice. "What does Dad have to do, Mom?"

"Oh Steven, now's not the time for questions!"

Daniel bent down to one knee. "It's all right, Steve. There's nothing to worry about." Daniel smiled while straightening Steve's collar. His navy blue shirt was tucked into a pair of dark wool shorts. Steve disliked being pawed at by his mother, but his father's reassuring hands were different. It was as if they were demonstrating their range of dexterity, this time attentively shaping the most important part of a delicate sculpture. Steve's mood remained somewhat sombre, while his brother's was more playful. Dave's face contorted just before he jostled Steve's cap.

"Stop it, will you?" Mary blurted. "I told you, you're not to get those outfits dirty."

Daniel stood up and tried to remain positive. "You both look very smart, you know that?"

Dave beamed, but Steve remained suspicious.

"Would you lads mind doing your mother and me a favour?"

"Sure, Dad!" Dave agreed.

"Would you give us a few moments alone with Gran and Grandad before we leave for the Pub?"

"Can I show them the picture first?"

The boys had just experienced a Saturday afternoon outing with their father. Right after finishing work, Daniel took the boys to the Chiswick outdoor swimming pool. Next, they went to the Palais Cinema. It was their third destination, though, which provided Dave with his coveted memento.

Steve persisted with a lower voice. "Is everything alright, Dad?" But the words had barely come out of Steve's mouth when Ellen opened the front door.

"I'll explain later, Steve. I promise!"

"Oh Mary, come in, come in!" The anxiety in Ellen's voice was lost on Dave. He darted through the doorway with his keepsake in hand.

"Look, Gran, I had my picture taken today!" Dave proudly holding up the photo.

"Well, isn't that nice."

Mary only needed a modicum of intuition to see that her mother's thoughts were preoccupied with something more serious.

"We went to see a cinematographic show today," Steve piped up, fumbling with the large word.

Daniel was the last to step inside. "I've been promising them for some time. It was entitled, '"A Study in Scarlet." It was about ..."

"Sherlock Holmes!" Patrick interjected, appearing in the narrow hallway. "Arthur Conan Doyle's first, I believe."

"Why don't you show Grandad your photo, then keep yourselves busy for a while," Mary suggested.

Patrick bent down to get a closer look at the picture. "Well done, lads, you should hold on to that one." He groaned when standing up and straightening his back. "Seems appropriate, considering the events of late!"

"Patrick!" Ellen scowled. "Nothing is certain at this point."

Patrick looked unconvinced.

"All right then, boys," Mary said, refocusing their attention. "Remember what your father asked."

Steve didn't like being kept in the dark. He looked at his father, "But..."

"No buts, young man," Mary intervened.

"Oh, all right," Steve grumbled. He followed his younger brother, thumping his feet on his way toward the back of the house.

Ellen watched Steve and Dave disappear from sight before asking, "Have you been reading the papers today?" Ellen's cheery demeanour, which was intended for the boys' sake, changed to one of worry.

"We have." Mary's agitated mood descended to match her mother's. The four of them walked into the front parlour. Ellen glanced at the paper sitting on the table and was troubled by the pace at which events were unfolding in Europe.

In essence, it stated this past Friday, July 31st, Germany insisted that Russia stop mobilizing her army. Russia refused, maintaining she was only responding to Austria-Hungary's provocation against Serbia. At the same time, the German ambassador in Paris requested a formal statement from the French government regarding its position, should a war break out between Russia and Germany. Although the French position was not made public in time for the morning issue, the Press Association reported, in effect, France's response was not satisfactory to Germany.

Mary was't the only one too nervous to sit. "I can't believe this is happening."

"I agree," said a frustrated Ellen. "How did it come to this... and so quickly?"

Daniel sat down and made an attempt to temper any uncertainty. "Let's try to remain calm. Britain has yet to make any declaration."

"Germany has declared war on Russia, man!" Patrick blurted. "Do you really think we are going to just stand by? The papers are saying German troops are already in France."

Patrick, in his no nonsense fashion, spoke the truth. According to The Times, as of 7:30 p.m., last evening, Germany was at war with Russia.

Further articles in the day's papers reported that Germany had not only invaded Luxemburg, but their advance patrols were already on French soil. They were marching toward the Fort at Cirey, on the French territorial frontier.

Daniel's head drooped. "Patrick is right." He then glanced up at Mary, his eyes connecting with hers. "I know whatever happens we'll get through it, together."

Though Mary could feel the sadness in Daniel's words, she remained indifferent. "Together?" she challenged.

Ellen perked up. "Maybe you won't even be recalled."

Everyone but Patrick managed a half-hearted smile. Daniel got up and, with his outstretched arm, tried to persuade Mary toward the front door.

"That's right, you two should be on your way," Ellen agreed. "I'm sure you have a lot to talk about."

Patrick could always be counted on to maintain the stiffest upper lip. "Not to worry... these nations don't have the stomach for a protracted engagement."

"Say 'bye to the boys for us, will you Mum?" Mary asked.

"By the way," Ellen interjected. "Did you not go with Daniel and the boys today?"

"No, I wasn't feeling up to a lot of walking."

As Ellen's motherly instinct compelled her to query further, Mary and Daniel descended the front steps. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Mother," Mary answered, sarcastically. "I'm fine!"

Patrick tried to coax Ellen in from the doorway. "Of course she's fine. Let them be on their way!"

But before closing the door, Patrick couldn't help but let loose one more comment.

"Now the Crimea, on the other hand... that was a War!"

~ ~ ~

"What'll it be, luv?" the waitress asked, raising her voice over the din.

From across the table, Daniel looked at Mary, suggesting she order first.

"I don't know if I should. What are you going to have?"

"I'll have a large Guinness, thank you."

Mary reconsidered, saying: "Just a Shandy for me, if you don't mind." She forced a polite smile.

Mary pulled the pins from above her head, allowing her hair to fall onto her scarf. Daniel was only one of several men who were instantly enchanted. Although he thought Mary's lovely face was accentuated when her hair was up, he couldn't help feeling an instinctive desire when it was released. Mary shook her head and then ran her fingers through her hair as if she were trying to rid her thoughts of today's events.

Daniel looked at Mary. He smiled, revelling in her beauty. "A Shandy?"

"I just want something light."

Though Ellen's concern was not lost on Daniel, he remained distracted. "You should wear your hair up like that more often."

Mary returned her husband's expressive embrace. Letting her eyes close she felt her thoughts being carried away by a melodic violin. There was a trio playing in the corner of the pub. In accompaniment, the heavenly pitch of the young lady's voice reinvigorated her unsettled soul. Mary recognized the tune, and she opened her eyes.

'Tis the last rose of summer, left blooming alone,'

The song struck an unsettling chord. Daniel and Mary looked at each other and, without the need of words, lamented the many memories conceived at these very tables.

'I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,' the second verse continued.

Mary was relieved to see their waitress return with their drinks. "Would you be likin' anything else? Crisps or peanuts?"

"Not today, thank you," Mary said.

"Just the drinks then, that's all right." The waitress put a couple of napkins on the table along with Mary's shandy.

Daniel took Mary's hand. "What are you thinking?"

"Oh, I don't know," she replied. Her tone returned to brooding. "I guess I'm thinking what every other woman in here is pondering." While the waitress gently put Daniel's Guiness in front of him, Mary let go of his hand and glanced around the room. "Would you just look at it? Every single man here is laughing and carrying on as if they're about to embark on some sort of holiday, while... while every woman is wearing an expression more suited to a... a funeral parlour than a pub."

The waitress agreed. "Some things never change, do they, mum?"

Daniel was conspicuously quiet. If anything, his mood these past days was solemn. Considering the situation he and Mary were facing, words seemed inadequate. It would be better, he thought, to stay focused on Mary. He had already resolved himself to his fate, and would not let worry define these last days.

A subtle "thank you" for his pint was all that he dared at this moment.

"Why is it the men get to go off to some foreign land while the women have to stay home and look after the families?"

"I know exactly what you mean, luv," their server agreed.

"Have you got someone who's about to...?"

"Oh, yes!" she interjected. "Me brother has set up camp in the recruitment line as we speak."

"I guess I'll never understand it," Mary said.

"Nor I, mum," the waitress offered before making her way to another table.

"If it's any consolation, Mary..."

"It's all right, Danny. I know you don't want to go."

Daniel's enthusiasm to resurrect his profession as a career soldier was admittedly at odds with the wave of patriotic fervour that was poised to overtake his nation. He felt as though he had done his part for King and Country, but he also knew that a recall of reservists would undoubtedly follow a British declaration of war.

Daniel took a gulp of his beer and then returned it to the table. "Honestly, I'd rather know one way or another. It's as if we're in a state of purgatory, like we're waiting for something to happen."

"Purgatory," Mary exasperated. "That's an odd analogy."

"Why's that?"

"Cause I don't think it's Heaven you'll be marching into next!"

Daniel looked at Mary before they both burst out laughing. For both of them, it was a release of pent up tension. At the same moment, a heartfelt applause arose, rewarding the musicians for another ballad well played.

Daniel smiled. "Maybe we should just try and enjoy the evening."

"Spoken like a true man." Mary said. Taking a sip of her Shandy, she looked around the large room. It was a post and beam style of architecture with stippled stucco in between. Its nautical theme was evident throughout, with brass, nets and fishing gear speaking for its proximity to the Thames. Cigarette smoke drifted from nearly every table, giving Mary the odd sensation of wanting one herself. But as soon as the trio began another song, her attention was drawn to the pub's entrance.

"Oh, look," she said, excitedly. "It's Lorne and Cheryl!" Mary smiled and waved, trying unsuccessfully to catch their attention.

"Lorne!" Daniel shouted. Lorne quickly turned his head then nodded toward Mary and Daniel. Cheryl smiled cheerfully and waved from across the busy pub.

Daniel and Lorne Sowden had been friends since the year Daniel left St. Mary's Orphanage. At the young age of fourteen, he wasn't eager to forge a life on his own. He did, however, want to satisfy a life-long interest of finding out any information about his parents, especially his mother. Using what few childhood memories he held dear, Daniel eagerly left St. Mary's in North Hyde, Heston, and made his way back to his birthplace of Chiswick. Although unsuccessful at locating his mother, he did discover something as important, a friendship that would last a lifetime.

Mary's face beamed, as she offered Cheryl a hug. "I'm so glad you could make it."

Daniel stood to politely greet their two good friends. He offered his hand to Lorne. "I think it's my round this time, my friend!"

Lorne replied with a solid handshake. "The next one's mine, then."

The two men followed Cheryl's lead, making themselves comfortable in their seats.

"Sibyl came through at the last minute," Cheryl stated, referring to her mother-in-law's willingness to look after their two girls.

Out of habit, Lorne was soon tugging on his white goatee. Though his moustache and hair had been of the same colour for longer than he was willing to admit, Lorne appreciated the fact that he and Daniel could easily sit down and resume their friendship where they had left off. "We really should do this more often," he said.

After agreeing with Lorne, Mary focused in on Cheryl. "So, how have you been doing?"

Instantly, two simultaneous conversations ensued along gender lines, each being quite oblivious of the other.

"We should, shouldn't we?" Daniel agreed, taking another sip from his glass. "Although I'm not sure where I'll be in another month's time."

Lorne's attention was momentarily diverted by the waitress's inquiry.

"Somethin' from the bar?" she asked. She took their usual order, first from Cheryl then Lorne, but just as Lorne was about to pursue Daniel's last point, the band started another well-known tune.

With an intro already underway, the trio's vocalist spoke up: "If anyone's familiar with the words to this one, feel free to sing along."

"What is it then?" an intoxicated patron shouted from the bar.

Mary turned around in her seat. "It's The Black Velvet Band!" she yelled, having already recognized the violin's melody.

"Thank you!" the songstress said, nodding with a smile in Mary's direction.

"What's gotten into you?" Cheryl jousted.

"Ah, it's just I've had it up to here with the talk of war."

Daniel found it humorous when Mary's I've had it up to here gesture resembled a salute. When the waitress arrived with their drinks, Lorne asked: "Do you think they'll be callin' ya' back, Danny?"

"Shush," Cheryl quipped. Her glare was accompanied by an under-the-table kick.

"What?" Lorne recoiled, almost spilling his first sip.

Daniel looked at Lorne and tilted his head in Mary's direction, indicating the subject was striking a nerve.

"It's all right," Mary stated, raising her voice over the music. "I knew my Danny was a soldier when I married him." Several tables around looked over at her.

"That you did," Daniel agreed.

A smirk came across Cheryl's face. "Yes, well, I didn't know mine wanted to be one when I married him."

Lorne cleared his throat and tried to change the subject. "How many years has it been for you two... six, seven?" Like most men, Daniel normally exercised caution and deferred these sorts of questions to Mary. A smile typically accompanied her reflective answer, but not this time. "Not enough!" Mary blurted.

Daniel cringed. He knew his wife had a reason to be upset. He looked into his evaporating pint, giving serious consideration to an appropriate reply. But to his great relief, Mary's demeanour changed with the onset of the trio's latest tune. She looked at Cheryl and melted. Her expression looked as though she had just been introduced to a newborn baby. "Oh, I love this song," she swooned. "Come on luv, sing with me!"

Mary jostled her chair to point toward the trio's alcove, and after some prodding, Cheryl did the same. Daniel grinned as Mary sang loudly.

~

Her eyes they shone like the diamonds

You'd think she was queen of the land

And her hair hung over her shoulder

Tied up with a black velvet band.

~

Lorne couldn't help chuckling as Cheryl and Mary swayed back and forth in their chairs. "Sorry, mate!" he said. He leaned over the table toward Daniel. "I suppose I should've known better."

"Not to worry old man." Daniel replied. He shook his head and smiled at the sight of his singing wife. Mary was encouraging Cheryl to stand. Then facing the band in a moment of utter enjoyment, they were soon one arm around the other, all the while indifferent to anyone's appreciation of their accompaniment.

They continued singing the second verse:

~

Well, I was out strolling one evening

Not meaning to go very far

When I met with a pretty young damsel

Who was selling her trade in the bar.

When I watched, she took from a customer

And slipped it right into my hand

Then the Watch came and put me in prison

Bad luck to the black velvet band.

~

Daniel couldn't help laughing at the spectacle. "We'd just been over it before you arrived," he said quietly, during a lull in the volume.

Lorne glanced at Mary then lowered his voice. "If it's war, will you be going?"

"I don't see," he paused for a moment, as Mary turned around to give him a quick smile. "I don't see that I have a choice in the matter."

By now the two men were half slumped over the table in order to continue their discussion quietly. "You're expecting to be recalled, then?"

"As soon as Asquith makes it formal."

"I suppose that could come any day."

Daniel nodded, taking the last sip from his glass. The third verse came and went as the two men continued their discussion.

"I think it's my round this time," Lorne stated, turning toward the bar to get the waitress's attention. He held up his right hand, waving his index finger in a circular motion. "One more," he mouthed to the waitress.

"I know it'll be tough on Mary and the boys." Lorne paused and glanced to his right to make sure the girls wouldn't hear. "But I would think most blokes would jump at the chance to see what you've seen... go off to a foreign land and all."

But before Daniel could answer, he was distracted by the start of the fourth and final verse.

~

So come all you jolly young fellows

I'd have you take warning by me

Whenever you're out on the liquor, me lads,

Beware of the pretty colleen.

She'll fill you with whiskey and porter

Until you're not able to stand

And the very next thing that you'll know, me lads,

You're landed in Van Dieman's Land.

~

"You're not meaning to enlist, are you?"

As Mary's song finished, she and Cheryl laughed and exchanged a few words with the group's female vocalist. "Thank you very much, ladies!" the songstress announced.

Mary and Cheryl laughed loudly.

Lorne tried to bolster his case for joining. "Rumour is it'll all be over in a few months!"

Daniel realized their opportunity to talk freely was quickly evaporating. "Look, mate, promise me you won't do anything until we talk further."

Lorne only reluctantly agreed before their attention was drawn to the small stage.

The female singer stood up from her stool. "What are your names then?" she called out.

Again, Daniel felt the crowd focus in on their table. Mary spoke up without hesitation: "I'm Mary and this is me best mate, Cheryl!"

"Then who did I hear saying they were married to a Danny?" the blonde haired lady asked.

"That would be me!" Mary replied, eager to play along.

"Well, then, we have another song you might like. It's called 'Danny Boy.'" From her small corner of the pub, the attractive songstress asked Mary if she had heard of the relatively new song. Her two male musicians, who doubled as accompanying singers, sat just behind her.

"No, can't say that I have, but I'd be much obliged if you'd sing it for my Danny boy." Mary said. She then offered a coy smile to her husband.

"And would your Danny boy be a soldier?"

"He is. Why do you ask?"

Mary and Cheryl slid their chairs back into place in order to rejoin their husbands at the table.

"These lyrics were composed a couple of years ago. It was written from the perspective of... well, some say a father... but I prefer to think of the words being sung by the mother of a soldier going off to battle!"

"Seems fitting then," a man hollered from the bar. It was the same man who spoke up before. Several onlookers turned toward him only to realize he had one beer too many. "Me boy's waiting for the call as well," he said, patting his son on the back. "You're going to teach that Kaiser a thing or two, ain't ya' son?" The young lad only nodded.

"Here, here!" came a few chants from supportive patrons.

The barman spoke up. "All right, Mr. Parsons that'll be enough for now!"

"I'm sorry, Mick," Mr. Parsons apologized. "It's just... this war has got his mother a little on edge!"

"We understand," the barman sympathized. "Go on then, Maev!" he said, suggesting the vocalist begin the song.

Maev nodded to her accompaniment. "You may recognize the melody, but the lyrics of this song were written just a few years ago by a man named, Frederick Weatherly. They have since been adapted to the tune of, yes, 'Londonderry Air.' I hope you like it as much as I do."

After a short into, Maev began to sing:

~

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen, and down the mountain side

The summer's gone, and all the flowers falling

T'is you, T'is you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow

Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow

and I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow

Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

~

But when ye come, and all the flow'rs are dying

If I am dead, as dead I well may be

ye'll come and find the place where I am lying

And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.

And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me

And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be

For ye will bend and tell me that you love me

And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.

Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

~

Cheryl joined in the unanimous applause. "That was beautiful!"

It was obvious, though, that Mary heard it differently. "And so appropriate," she stated. With a stiffened posture, she glared straight into Daniel's eyes.

Daniel could see the turmoil swirling within his wife. Stumbling over his own words, Daniel tried in vain to temper the fire brewing in Mary's heart. "Ah, Mary, don't let it get to ya'!"

Attempting to be supportive, Lorne put in, "It's just a song, luv!"

"It's not just a song!" Mary blurted. She abruptly slid her chair backward.

"Mary!" was all Daniel could say.

Her eyes shot back and forth. She struggled for something appropriate to say. "Must you go?" she blurted, loudly.

Lorne and Cheryl seemed caught off guard by Mary's reaction.

She couldn't contain herself any longer. "How come I'm not allowed to be selfish for once? And insist that we come first?"

Frustrated by her own loss of composure, she stood up quickly, jolting her chair backward. But before leaving their table, Mary offered an apologetic look, one that could only be understood by a loving husband. She left the table and rushed out the front door.

Daniel sighed, expelling a large dose of his own frustration. "I'll give her a moment or two!"

"I'll go, Danny," Cheryl offered. "I'll make sure she's all right."

After Cheryl left, Lorne couldn't help feeling somewhat responsible. "Sorry, mate, next time I'll keep me big mouth shut."

"It's not your fault, Lorne." Daniel got up and took one last gulp of his pint. "She's got every right to be upset."

After leaving their table, Daniel stopped Lorne on the way to the entrance. "You're not serious... about joining, are you?"

"Why?"

"Trust me when I say, it won't be what you expect."

Lorne quickly interrupted. "You're not trying to keep all the excitement to yourself, are ya'?" he laughed.

Daniel glanced between the front door and his friend. "I should really be see'n to Mary, but do me a favour, will you?"

"Anything, mate!"

"I know you're as patriotic as the next bloke, but please don't answer the call until you're obliged."

"Do you think it will come to that?"

"If it does, my friend, God help us all."

Daniel opened the pub's front door and walked out onto the sidewalk. He looked back and forth between Mary to Cheryl. Both were standing just outside the pub. "Did I miss something?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Mary replied. Her expression seemed flat, strangely uncooperative. She fiddled with something in her right hand.

"Why does Cheryl have a big smile on her face... and... why are you smoking?"

Cheryl smiled. "Everything's fine," she suggested, while caressing Mary's back. "Just a case of nerves."

"Nerves?"

"Yes nerves!" Mary retorted. "You have no idea what you men put us through!" She used her right shoe to grind her cigarette butt in the sidewalk. Mary looked up to Cheryl's nod of agreement.

For once, Daniel was at a loss for words. Lorne's timing, on the other hand, was perfect when he walked out the pub's front door.

Before he could say anything, Mary stepped forward. "I'm sorry Lorne."

"Oh no, Mary," Lorne interjected. "I'm the one that needs to apologize."

"Well, just the same." Mary said. She put her arms around Lorne and they shared a heartfelt embrace.

"Maybe we should be getting on," Cheryl piped up.

"I suppose we should," Lorne agreed.

After sharing their goodbyes, the two couples began walking in separate directions.

Lorne turned back toward Daniel. "Let us know, will you... if..."

"I will, my friend, I will."

"And we'll pray it doesn't come," Cheryl added.

"Amen to that!" Mary hollered.

Neither couple had walked far before an uneasy silence lingered between Mary and Daniel. It persisted for longer than usual, and Daniel couldn't help attributing the interlude to their discussion at the pub. He offered Mary his hand, hoping the gesture would raise her spirits.

Finally, Mary piped up. "Danny?"

"Yes, luv?"

In a soft voice, she asked: "Would you say an 'Ave' for me?"

"Of course I would, Sweetheart."

Another short pause ensued, before Daniel inquired: "And if it's you that softly treads above me?"

"I'd say one every day until I joined you. Every single day, Danny. Every single day."

The pair walked on.

CHAPTER NINE

### Word and deed forever forged

The true soldier fights not because

he hates what is in front of him, but

because he loves what is behind him.

G.K. Chesterton

It was Wednesday morning, August 5th, 1914, approximately ten past six. Dawn had come and gone by more than a half an hour, and Patrick was walking slowly down the sidewalk. It was his custom to buy 'The Times' from his local paper shop on Devonshire Road before enjoying it with breakfast. Patrick liked to be up to date on current events and would turn the pages slowly while sipping on his tea.

Today was different, though. This morning, he couldn't wait for the kitchen table to open his paper. As he instinctively navigated Hogarth Lane, he flipped past the cover page full of advertisements. His gait slowed slightly, as he continued. He hastily turned page after page, looking toward the middle sections. He then stopped abruptly, knowing he was within eyesight of his daughter.

For the past several days Mary had adopted a custom of her own. She knew her father picked up the paper every morning like clockwork, and that it would contain all the latest breaking news from the previous day and evening. So, with anticipation in her eyes, she stood by her doorstep waiting to receive a sign from her father. After perusing the pages during his short journey home, he would close the paper and glance upward. He typically shook his head, before quietly offering, "Nothing yet, Mary."

Patrick's gesture and words allowed Mary to struggle through another day. Another day, possibly her last, to feel life as it was meant to be experienced. One last day would allow memories to be refreshed, recollections, after which Daniel departed, would amount to all she had left.

This morning was different, though. The paper crumpled, as Patrick's arms dropped. "It's war, Mary!" he stammered. He stood motionless, staring at his daughter. Stunned by the news, Mary opened the front door and slowly went inside.

Patrick, still standing on the sidewalk, flipped forward and backward through the remaining pages, looking for one more proclamation. The words he was looking for caught his attention on page three. It was a notice to all Reservists: Report for duty immediately.

He read on briefly taking in the gist of the article before letting his arms wilt. With a blank stare on his face, he folded his paper haphazardly and turned the corner onto Sutherland Road. When he approached his own front walkway, the front door opened.

"Where've you been?" Ellen asked. "Your breakfast is getting cold."

"I've no time for breakfast this morning," he stated, sombrely. "We've got to get over to Mary's. Daniel's going to need to see this."

"Then, it's happened?"

"It's in this morning's paper... as of 11:00 pm last night, we're at war with Germany."

"Oh, my Lord!" Ellen said, covering her mouth with her hand. "Let me get my shoes." She took off her apron and fumbled around as if the news had dazed her momentarily.

"We'd better hurry," he said. "I don't have much time before I'll have to be at work."

Mary stood motionless by the kitchen window. She stared at the violets punctuating her flowerbeds in the backyard. Colourful flora, which normally stirred her senses, faded into monotonous shades of grey. Mary dreaded the fact that, from this day forward, black and white would be the only tones to hold any power over her.

As Daniel descended the final stairs, a knock came to the front door. He glanced at Mary. "Are you expecting anyone?"

The unlatched door slowly swung open. Seeing Patrick and Ellen's expressions, the day's only smile, fleeting as his was, came and went almost unnoticed. Daniel instinctively knew why they had come. He glanced back at Mary, realizing why she was so silent and still.

"We're at war then?" Daniel said, turning back to Patrick.

Ellen, on her way to comfort Mary, stopped momentarily and clutched Daniel's left hand. She looked up at him with sadness in her eyes. She said nothing, only continued into the kitchen.

"I'm afraid we are, son," Patrick said.

Mary let out a quiet sob and allowed her head fall onto her mother's shoulder. Patrick passed Daniel the paper. It was folded open to the historic headline.

Daniel read intently. "I guess this makes it official," he said, glancing up at Patrick's nod of concurrence. Daniel read further before looking down the hallway towards Mary. "It does look as though they tried," he said, pausing momentarily. "I mean, it seems Asquith and Grey made every reasonable effort to avoid it, don't you think?"

Patrick drew a heavy sigh before agreeing, "I think history will record that war has been thrust upon us."

In fact, Patrick's sentiment was underlined by Britain's Prime Minister's in his address to the House of Commons yesterday:

'If I am asked what we are fighting for,' Prime Minister Asquith began, 'I can reply in two sentences. In the first place, to fulfil a solemn international obligation... an obligation of honour which no self-respecting man could possibly have repudiated. I say, secondly, we are fighting to vindicate the principle that small nationalities are not to be crushed in defiance of international good faith at the arbitrary will of a strong and overmastering power.'

"I'm sorry," Patrick said, joining Mary and Ellen in the kitchen. "But I must be off to work." Standing beside them, he placed one hand on Mary's back and the other on Ellen. "Your mother will stay with you today, won't you, luv?"

"Of course," Ellen replied. "And what of Daniel, is there anything with regard to..."

"Yes," Patrick interjected. Standing beside Ellen and Mary, he looked at Daniel. "Your instructions are on page three."

Daniel fumbled backward through the paper and found the notice issued from the War Office yesterday. It read:

'A general mobilization having been proclaimed, all Regular Reservists are required to proceed immediately to the places of joining shown on their identity certificates without waiting for the receipt of their official notices to join (Army Form D.463.A.).

'On presenting the cash order on his identity certificate at the nearest post office (money order office) the Reservist will receive 3s. advance of pay; the railway or steamboat company will issue him a ticket to his place of joining when he presents the railway warrant on his identity certificate at the booking office.

'It is of the utmost importance in the present emergency that every Regular Reservist shall join at the earliest possible moment, and his Majesty's Government rely with confidence upon the railway and other transport companies, employers, and the Reservists themselves to do all in their power to facilitate rapid mobilization.'

"That's it then, isn't it?" Mary proclaimed from the kitchen. She let go of her Mother's embrace and took a couple of steps toward Daniel. "The decision's been made for us." Emotional sarcasm filled her voice. "You're leaving us again." Mary stood glaring at Daniel, as if waiting for him to throw her a lifeline.

"I don't know what to say, Mary," he quietly responded.

"They're about to drag you off to war," her voice quivered, verging on crying. "And for once in your life you... you don't have anything to say?"

"Come now, Mary!" her father interjected. "You're making things difficult."

"Difficult?" Mary quipped, disrespectfully.

"Yes!" Patrick insisted. "During times such as these, duty is the only thing that matters." He turned back toward Daniel to inquire further about the article.

"Duty to whom?" Mary fired back in frustration. "Duty to his country or to his family," she gasped then cried. "Which should come first?"

Her father paused and turned back to engage his daughter's impertinence. He felt the urge, but resisted the temptation, choosing instead to make his way toward the door. "I should be getting on to work."

Mary stepped forward. "I'm sorry, Father," she said, regretfully.

Patrick paused. "It's quite alright." he said, glancing over his shoulder.

"Will you let them know I won't be in?" Daniel asked.

"Of course. They'll understand," he said, reaching for the door. "And I'm sure they would want me to extend their best of luck."

"And tell Mr. Nichols thank you for all that he's done for me," Daniel added.

While opening the door, Patrick paused a moment. He looked straight ahead, fearing his expression would betray his composed exterior. "Do stop by, will you?" his voice cracking, "before you leave."

"I will!" Daniel said, as Patrick nodded and closed the door behind him.

Ellen turned to Daniel. "I think he is going to miss you."

"Are you sure?" Daniel asked, trying to inject a little humour.

Ellen's eyes spoke for her sincerity. "He holds more respect for you than you realize."

"Did you hear him call you son?" Mary sniffled, looking up at her husband. She could see in his smile how much the word had warmed his heart.

"Well, then," Ellen stated, "I suppose someone should wake the boys."

"I'll do it," Daniel offered. "I'll tell them."

Daniel turned the door handle to the boys' room, opened it slowly, and took a step inside. Steve was awake.

"Is everything all right, Steve?" he whispered. Daniel glanced at a still sleeping Dave, and took a few more steps, stopping at the foot of the boys' bed.

"I'm fine!" Steve suggested. His demeanour, on the other hand, caused his father to think otherwise.

"It looks as though you've been..."

"I haven't!" Steve retorted.

"I'm sorry, Steve. Did you hear us talking downstairs?"

Steve tried hard not to cry. "A little bit." He squinted hard, causing tears to escape his eyes. His voice shuddered. "When do you have to leave?"

Daniel sat down on the corner of the bed, which caused Dave to wake. After rubbing his eyes, he could tell Steve was upset.

"What's going on, Dad?" Dave turned to Steve. "Have you been crying?"

"No!" Steve blurted.

Dave looked back at his father.

Daniel's head drooped. "I've some bad news, lads."

By now, Mary and Ellen sat in the kitchen, struggling through a cup of tea. Suddenly, Mary became distracted. She looked up toward the ceiling. "NO!" she heard Dave scream. "You can't go!" She looked back at Ellen and watched the tears roll down her face.

After being consoled by his father, Dave continued to sniffle. "Is it going to be dangerous for you, Dad?" He innocently asked.

"Well," Daniel began, before being interrupted by Steve.

"Of course it's dangerous, Dave! People get killed during war!" Steve was frustrated not so much with his brother, but the circumstances that were causing his father to leave.

"Killed!" Dave shouted, before his father could temper his brother's ill-considered comment.

"Now boys." Daniel glared at Steve before trying to regain control of the discussion.

Despair overtook Dave's expression. "Who would want to kill you, Dad?"

"Look boys, no one is going to kill your father," he stated clearly, looking at Steven then at David. "Do I make myself clear?"

Both boys were conspicuously quiet.

"Do I make myself clear?" he repeated.

"Yes, Father," Dave replied.

With Dave's acceptance, Daniel turned to look at his brother. "Steve, do you understand?"

"Yes, but..." Steve began to say, before the three of them turned to listen more closely to a call from their mother downstairs.

"Danny!" Mary shouted from the hall.

Their father got up from Steve's bedside and walked to the door. "Yes, luv!"

"Lorne is here to see you."

She turned back to Lorne and struggled with a smile. "It's nice of you to come."

"You know, if there is anything you need," Lorne replied, "Cheryl and I ..."

"Thank you!" Mary interjected, before Daniel descended the stairs and joined them.

Daniel offered his hand. "Lorne!" he announced, before accepting his handshake. Daniel stepped back a pace and placed his hands on his hips. The boys timidly appeared behind him. "I suppose you've heard the news?"

"Yes, and I wasn't sure on the timing of things," he said cautiously, glancing at the boys. "So I wanted to stop by on my way to work and remind you how close by Cheryl and I are!" Lorne looked at Daniel and then Mary to make his point clear.

"Thanks, mate!" Daniel replied. "You don't know how much that means to me."

Lorne looked at Mary. "If there's anything you need, Mary. I mean anything."

A simple nod was all Mary could manage.

Wanting to have a few words alone with his friend, Daniel put his hand on Lorne's shoulder.

"Do you mind, Mary, if I see Lorne on his way?" Daniel said, expecting Mary to understand some of their conversation should be exchanged out of earshot of the boys.

"Of course," she agreed. She watched as the two men turned to walk out the door. "Make sure you express our thanks to Cheryl as well," she insisted.

"I will," Lorne replied, turning. "And don't forget what I said earlier."

Lorne and Daniel made their way down the short walkway and stopped on the sidewalk. As Mary knelt down in the front doorway, and embraced both Steven and David, they could see but not hear the conversation between Lorne and their father.

"What did Mr. Sowden mean?" Dave asked.

Mary caressed the boys' backs. "Oh, he promised to look in on us from time to time, while your father is away." Mary and the boys watched their father exchange a few subtle gestures with his friend.

"When does Dad have to leave?" Steve asked, quietly.

"Soon, boys," she replied. Her words were confirmed by the men's embrace and back slapping gesture of friendship.

"Very soon, boys," Mary reiterated.

The boys watched their father shake hands again and wave briefly to Lorne. As he departed, Daniel turned back toward the house and saw the boys and Mary looking on. For a moment they remained locked in a visual embrace. Daniel was startled by their expressions, seeing in their eyes the sorrow that awaited them. It was the sadness of knowing it would soon be their turn to say goodbye.

CHAPTER TEN

### Goodbye for now

Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

"Mary!" Daniel shouted, from their second-floor bedroom. "Mary!" he repeated, this time in a louder voice.

From the kitchen, Mary responded: "Yes, luv."

Her concentration, for the moment, was occupied by the task of ironing. A small and haphazard pile of clothes lay just beside her on the kitchen table. As she feverishly forced her iron back and forth across the make shift ironing table, she paused, after hearing a further inquiry from her husband.

"Mary!" she heard her name called again.

In a display of frustration, she put down the hot iron back onto the stove. Squeezing around the ironing table, Mary stopped at the kitchen door. She leaned on the doorframe while looking up toward the top of the stairs.

"What is it?"

"Have you seen my khakis?"

"Your khakis? They're right where you left them!"

Mary and Daniel for the last couple of hours had been darting back and forth through an air of near anxiety. Daniel was not only trying to remember the personal items he would need to endure an extended period of expedition, but more importantly, he was beginning to wonder what Mary had done with them.

Daniel descended the first few stairs. "I can't find them."

Mary was exasperated. She was certain Daniel had overlooked them. As if she didn't have enough on her plate already, Mary began to walk up the stairs. In a semi-confused state, Daniel passed her on his way down.

"They might be under the steps," he muttered, heading for the small storage compartment under the staircase.

"I'll get them," Mary announced, continuing up the stairs toward their bedroom.

After spending only moments rummaging through the contents of the storage compartment, Daniel gave up and closed the door behind him.

Bloody Hell! he said to himself, putting his hands on his hips. "Why isn't anything where I left it?" he mumbled. He walked toward the window at the front of the house. I need to leave in a few of hours and I won't have half of what I need, he thought. The boys were doing their best imitation of playing outside the front of the house. After being asked to keep themselves busy, their demeanour amounted more to hovering than playing.

A thought suddenly came to him. "Oh, Mary!" he hollered, turning toward the upstairs. "Do us a favour and get my writing pads and pencils. There in my bedside table!" He stood there silently watching the boys for a moment, before a holler came from inside their room.

"Daniel Donoghue!" Mary bellowed.

Daniel turned instantly. It was a tone he was fortunately not very familiar with. He took a few cautious steps bringing him closer the foot of the stairway.

"Yes," he said, clearing his throat as he looked up the stairs.

Mary appeared at the top of staircase. She glared down towards Daniel with an expression of utter contempt.

Under such scrutiny, "what's wrong?" were the only words that came to mind. A feeling came over him, one he hadn't experienced since he was in the Headmaster's office at St. Mary's Orphanage.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT'S WRONG?"

Instinctively, Daniel glanced side to side for prospects of cover.

"WHAT'S THIS?" Mary yelled. She held up a piece of paper clutched tightly in her left hand.

Daniel, reeling from the assault, took half a step backward and shrugged his shoulders. With his outstretched hands, he opened his mouth but no words could be heard.

"WHO THE HELL IS EVE?" she stated, with a glare that could penetrate the soul of any mortal.

"Eve?" he repeated. Still reeling from the effects of Mary's forcefulness, Daniel struggled to string two thoughts together.

"It says 'My Eve' and it's in your handwriting," she declared. Her confronting exterior was beginning to give way to sadness. In the time it took for Daniel to detect the appearance of tears in his wife's eyes, the whole matter began to make sense. Mary, on the other hand, was confused to see a smile on her husband's face. He began to explain:

"My Eve... is you!" he stated, smiling.

"Me!" she gasped, "I don't understand!"

"Didn't you read it?"

"No!' she admitted, rather sheepishly. "I guess when I saw the name Eve..." She paused for a moment. Her eyes glanced toward the floor. "Well, what do you expect? You're leaving and I see what I think is another woman's name."

"Not to worry, my luv," Daniel softly said, stopping at the foot of the stairs. "With what's been happening lately, you have good reason to be a little upset."

"You don't know the half of it," she mumbled, as Daniel ventured closer.

"I have an idea," Daniel announced. "I'll read it to you, how's that?" He smiled, while holding out his hand to take the piece of paper.

Mary didn't know what to say. Her expression seemed almost apologetic as she handed over the crumpled up sheet of paper.

"You stay there," Daniel suggested, before backing down the stairs. "And I'll read it to you from here."

"All right, then," she quietly said.

"It's entitled, 'My Eve.' You'll understand why in a moment." He cleared his throat and began to read:

~

'My Eve'

~

'When first He said

let there be light

did it mean only

that day shall

rule over night,

or was it love

He meant to shine

throughout time

until one day

I would find

it in you.'

~

Daniel looked up at Mary and continued with a soft voice.

~

'Then under the sky

the earth and seas

were they only

to cradle life

with such ease,

or were her shores

meant for me

to one day see

the sun set

upon its waters

with you.'

~

With one hand sliding along the railing, Mary took two steps toward her husband.

~

'And after the moon

the sun and stars

were they meant

to guide

angels afar

only to dwell

in Heaven's sight

until the night

I would lie

under them

beside you.'

~

Again, Mary descended another stair.

~

'Then there was me

and from me, you

to such miracles

how could I

remain true

my vow, He agreed

not to my debt

only never forget

my promise

to spend eternity

loving you.'

~

During the last lines, Daniel's voice almost cracked. He glanced at the floor as if to avoid an awkward moment. Mary now stood before him. She gently used the fingers of her right hand to raise his chin, at least enough to make eye contact.

"That was beautiful!" she said, softly.

"I'm glad you liked it."

"Liked it?" Mary threw her arms around Daniel. She closed her eyes and squeezed him so tightly, a tear from each eye rolled down her face. Daniel hugged her with more vigour and for longer than usual, wondering if it would be one of their last.

Mary took an erratic breath. "I've got something to tell you, Danny."

She slowly separated herself from Daniel, just enough to look at him closely. "I hope you won't be upset with me for leaving it to the last minute like this but," she paused a moment as her eyes glanced down.

In that instant, it became clear. Daniel knew what she was going to say.

"We're going to have another baby," Mary proclaimed.

She hugged him firmly again, relishing the relief of finally making the announcement. With her suspicions only a few weeks old, she was happy her internal struggle was over. To tell or not to tell him before he leaves was a question that had permeated every moment together.

Her head lay on his shoulders, while her emotions indulged several responses. What if he's upset with me for telling him now, at this moment? Won't he be troubled by leaving an expectant wife?

With her head still on his shoulder, seconds passed like minutes.

"Please tell me you're happy!" she whispered.

Daniel loosened his embrace. "Happy!" he stated. "Why, Mary... that's... that's just wonderful!" He pulled her close to him again and kissed her passionately. "Happy!" he delighted again. "Since the day I met you you've made me the happiest man in the world."

"Really?" Mary seemed both humbled and surprised at the same time.

"Yes, Mary, and I think your timing couldn't be better."

Mary closed her eyes and hugged him again. "Oh, that makes me so happy to hear you say that!"

"This is just what I need to get through these next few months."

Mary listened closely.

"Just imagine if it's over as quickly as they say, I could be home in time for..."

Just then, the boys burst through the front door. Arriving first, Dave made an announcement of his own. "Something's arrived for you, Dad!"

Steve followed his brother into the front hallway then turned to look inquisitively at the person standing just outside the door. "I think it's a telegram," he suggested.

Daniel stepped into the door's threshold.

"Mr. Daniel Donoghue?" the officious-looking boy asked.

"That's me!"

"Sign here, please," he stated, allowing Daniel to comply with his request.

"Telegram, sir," the boy proclaimed. He handed it to Daniel, before turning and departing.

"Is it your orders?" Mary asked, moving closer to look over Daniel's shoulder.

Daniel laughed. "It's from Sully!" He glanced at Mary and then the boys before reading on. "On leave in London, he says." Daniel's eyes moved back and forth across the small card. "Must return to Aldershot as soon as possible," he continued. "Sorry to hear of your recall. I will pick you up on my way through in the morning." Daniel and Mary breathed a sigh of relief.

Giving Sully's words some thought, Daniel turned to look at Mary. "Did you hear what he said?"

"Then we have until morning!"

"Boys," their father turned to address them directly. "Your mother and I have an announcement to make of our own!"

Later on that same evening, Daniel stood quietly in the dark hallway, considering what he should say to his young boys. How much does one confide in these circumstances? he asked himself. Daniel became distracted by the idea he may never come home, that he may never see his boys again. What if I do make it home, but I can't work? I've lost a leg, an arm, or an eye? Would Mary and the boys be left destitute like my mother was?

Although the future seemed uncertain, Daniel was not the sort of man to lose hope. Adversity should be dealt with as it comes, he would say to the boys, and not be given license to be ruminated about. Thus, Daniel's future was always full of potential, of optimism for both he and his family.

He took a deep breath before walking into the bedroom. "Well boys, I'm sorry to say, but this may be our last bedtime for a while."

As was their custom, Daniel grasped the small chair from the corner of the room; he placed it within arm's length of Steven and David. The gas lamp flickered on the wall, as they lay in bed, while an unlit candle sat on their bedside table.

"I wish you didn't have to go, Dad!" Dave said. A hint of emotion already permeated his voice.

"Wishing is for little boys, Dave!" Steve interjected.

"Both of you still have plenty of time to grow up."

Steve's judgemental behaviour could almost be excused by his father. Not because this was their last night together, but because Steve was only trying to emulate the new role of 'man of the house' that was being thrust upon him.

Dave looked up at his father. "And there's still time for wishing, isn't there, Dad?"

"Of course there is."

"And dreaming, too!" Dave added.

"Dreaming most of all," Daniel answered. "Life is too short not to dream a little now and again." He turned from Dave's reciprocal smile to look back at Steve. He wasn't smiling, only fiddling with a fingernail on his left hand.

Steve's eyebrows were crinkled downward. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"You're afraid of dreaming?" Dave interrupted.

"No, you..." Steve blurted.

"Steve!" Daniel interjected. "Please don't be like that."

"Then, what are you afraid of?" Dave asked. He looked as though he weren't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"I'm afraid of Dad's life being too short!" Steve said glancing over to his brother. He then turned back to look straight at his father for his reassurance.

Dave couldn't believe his ears. "What do you mean by that?"

"What he means, Dave," his father began, "is... sometimes life can be shorter than we would like it to be."

It bothered Daniel to admit to such a fact. Not because he was afraid to die, but if he was killed in the coming weeks he would miss seeing his boys grow into the honorable men he knew they would become.

"Yeah," Dave piped up again. "That's why Mr. Deevy says we should live everyday as if it's our last."

Daniel laughed out loud. "Yes, I can imagine him saying that. But you know boys, if we did that we wouldn't make any plans for the future, would we?"

"I suppose not," Dave agreed.

"Have you planned for our future, Dad?" Steve asked, looking for reassurance.

"Of course we have, Steve. Your mother and I want you two boys to have the opportunities in life that were not available to us... to achieve things that your mother and I only dreamed of doing ourselves. Every father and mother wants these things for their children, but above all, we want you to be happy and safe." Daniel paused again, thinking it would be a good time to try to make the point for why he had to leave and go to war. "Do you think you two could try to imagine something for me?"

"Of course," Steve and Dave answered.

"What I want you to try to imagine is that we are a Belgian family. You are two Belgian boys lying in bed and talking with your Belgian father."

"Why Belgium, Dad?" Dave asked.

"Well, because right at this moment German soldiers are invading their country."

"They are?" Steve gasped.

"Why?" asked Dave.

"Well, we won't get into the why right now, but I want you to try and imagine how that Belgian father would be feeling, knowing the Germans are on the way."

A look of conviction came over Steve's face. "He would want to fight the Germans to protect his family, wouldn't he?"

"As would I, if I were he," Daniel replied. "I would fight any invading army to protect you!"

"But what if the father died?" Dave asked, as if taken aback by his own question.

"Well, boys," he looked at both of them. "If I were that father I would say, with great conviction that some things are worth dying for." Daniel paused for a moment while looking intently at Steven and David. "I know it may be difficult to understand right now, but I think when you grow up and have a family of your own you will appreciate what I am saying."

"I bet those Belgian boys would be afraid their father would never come home," Dave stated cleverly, knowing in his own mind the same fear nagged at him.

"It's very natural to be worried about losing a loved one," Daniel tried to explain. "Boys do you remember me telling you about how it's important to see life as a glass half-full and not half-empty... you know that we should focus on the positive and not the negative?"

"Uh-huh," they both agreed.

"When it comes to love, try not to imagine what we might or might not experience together in the future. Instead, try to appreciate what we have together today and what we have enjoyed in the past. I know my glass is overflowing with wonderful memories of you and you're your mother."

"Mine too, Dad!" Dave whole-heartedly agreed.

"Me too, Dad, but," Steve paused for a moment as if not all his concerns had been addressed. "Do you think that Belgian father would be afraid of dying?"

Their father leaned over, resting his arms on his knees. "Well Steve, there are some things that are worse than dying."

Dave was taken aback. "Worse than dying?"

"Like what?" Steve asked.

"Well, living in fear, for example."

Dave chuckled. "Isn't it better to be afraid than dead?"

"No, Dave, I don't think so. Try to imagine again a schoolyard bully who preys on his fellow students. You know, without any consideration for their feelings or wellbeing. Wouldn't it be better to come to the aid of a friend and stand up to that bully... to finally put him in his place? Wouldn't it be better to do that, even if there was a chance of being hurt, than to wait endlessly in fear until the moment he decided to pick on you?"

"Steve and I would do it together, wouldn't we Steve?" Dave suggested, having been drawn into the excitement of the scenario.

"I would hope you would give it your best try," their father added.

"Is that why you have to go, Dad?" Steve asked.

"You have to go to help those boys' father?" Dave added.

Daniel sat up straight. "Yes, boys, I would do anything to prevent my family from living in fear."

"I think we understand now, Dad," Steve suggested, thoughtfully. "We don't want you to leave, but I think we understand the reason why you have to."

"Thank you, boys, you don't know how much that means to me." Daniel paused and smiled briefly. "You know... you lads are growing up so fast." He shook his head side to side, his face beamed with pride.

"If I could make one last point," said Daniel. "A long time ago our country signed an agreement with other countries. A treaty that stated if Belgium, a very small country, were invaded by a bigger country, we would come to her aid."

"And if you make a promise," Steve suggested.

"You should keep it," Dave finished.

"You really are my brave young soldiers, aren't you?"

Steve got up to his knees, readying himself for a hug. "And we are proud of you, Dad."

The three of them hugged each other with a vigor that longed for future embraces.

After seeing the boys off to sleep, Daniel quietly left their room and crossed the narrow hallway.

"I'm sorry to take so long," Daniel said to Mary, joining her in bed. "I wanted to see them off to sleep one last time."

"That's all right," Mary answered. She set her book down on the night table next to her and turned over to look at Daniel. He was sitting with his back to her on his side of the bed. His head was tilted downward. He seemed lost in thought.

"I'm sure they appreciated every moment," she added.

"As did I," Daniel quietly replied. "I just," he paused again, before turning his head to the left. "I never imagined it this way, or how difficult it would be to leave with you expecting again."

"We'll manage," Mary suggested, leaning over to caress his back with his right hand. "We always do. Besides," she smiled, "if they're right, you'll be back before he's born."

"Before he's born?" Daniel repeated. He turned to look at Mary. "How do you know it's going to be another boy?"

"I just have a feeling," she suggested. Mary lay back in bed and let her head sink into her pillow. She swallowed as if an unpleasant thought were intruding. "I miss hearing your name." Mary extended her hand and it was met by Daniel's.

He tried to distract his wife. "If it's a boy I think we should call him Patrick, if it's a girl... Mary."

When Mary said she missed hearing the name, Daniel, she wasn't referring to her husband. She was speaking of her first-born son, Daniel Patrick Donoghue. Daniel was born a year before Steve. Though young Daniel lived long enough to witness the birth of his younger brother, he died before David could set his eyes upon him. It was, as Daniel attested, 'the greatest loss of his life.' He also remembered, if it were not for David's arrival, he wondered to what degree Mary would have recovered.

Mary sat up in bed and hugged Daniel from behind. "God has blessed us so... hasn't He?"

"When I get back," he stated, optimistically, "I'm going to build us a crib."

"You're going to build Patrick a crib," she mused.

Daniel smiled. "Patrick or Mary, either one."

"Or maybe, both!" Mary laughed and stretched her arms over her head. She gazed at Daniel. "All I know is that when I feel a kick I'm going to think of you, and how we made him or her."

Daniel smiled broadly. "Would you like me to refresh that memory once more?" he said, with a tempting smile.

"Why how forward of you, sir!" she joked, with a prudish expression.

"Isn't that what one of His Majesty's Soldiers should expect before going off to defend the honour of his country?" he said, laughingly.

"Well, then," she jested. "Are you more concerned with your country's honour or mine?"

"At this moment," he said, rolling into his place beside her, "and every other moment of my life," he caressed her arm with his left hand. "My concern," he paused, looking directly into her eyes. "My duty," she listened intently. "My love... is committed eternally to you, my beautiful wife!"

"Oh, you do know how to seize the moment," she said, putting her hand on his hip.

He laughed, looking downward at her grasp. "As do you."

"I just have one more question, before..."

"'Before what?" Daniel asked. He watched his hand caress her pleasing curves.

Mary batted her eyelids twice. "Well," she said, imitating a thick Irish accent. "Was it only once you were proposing?"

Mary couldn't contain her laughter any longer.

"I'll show you what I'm proposing!"

Mary let out a squeal and a cry of laughter as her husband quickly rolled on top of her.

It would become, they both agreed, their most memorable night. How fitting it was for a soldier to go off to war with memories that would last through its dark and lonely moments. Not a single second of their last night together would slip through their fingers. Sleep could wait. They laughed, Mary cried, as they both exceeded each other's expectations. Then in the way only a night deprived of sleep could be rewarded, a presence was felt at the foot of the bed.

"Wake up, Dad!" Dave stated loudly. He was rocking his father's feet back and forth. "Wake up!"

"What is it?" Daniel asked, as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"There's someone at the door."

Just then Steve burst through the bedroom doorway with a grand smile on his face.

"It's Sully!" he announced.

Within the hour Daniel was dawning his peaked cap. "How do I look?" he asked.

Mary sighed at the sight of seeing her husband in uniform again. "What I wouldn't give to go back to the moment when you arrived home."

Daniel laughed. "You mean this past spring? I'm not sure I could go through that charade again."

"Oh, I could," Mary admitted. "I'd do anything to have these past few months to live over again."

Mary stood before Daniel and closed her eyes. "Say that line for me one more time."

"Which line?" he chuckled. "Oh you mean the same one I said before you opened your eyes."

"Yes, that one." Mary listened closely and tried to imagine him saying it for the first time.

"Until I return, Oh Mary, I love you so!"

Mary opened her eyes and stared at Daniel. She pulled him close to her. "I will never forget this summer."

"Nor will I, luv... nor will I!"

For a few moments, Mary rested her head on Daniel's chest. She listened to his heartbeat, and knew she had already pushed reality aside long enough. "I suppose we shouldn't keep them waiting any longer."

Knowing Patrick, Ellen, and Sully were downstairs, Daniel nodded in agreement.

Mary and Daniel descended the stairs together, rounding the last few, before pausing in the front hallway. Mary's parents put their teacups back in the saucers. In the small front room, the idle chatter between Sullivan and the boys ceased.

Sully broke the silence by standing up. "Now that brings back a few memories."

"Doesn't it, though?" Daniel replied.

Mary stepped into the front room. "Can I get you any more tea, Mum, Dad?"

But before they could answer, a knock was heard at the front door.

"Oh! That must be Father Murphy," Mary announced.

Daniel reached for the door's handle. "That was thoughtful, Mary, to arrange for him to see us off?"

"I think we all could use his blessing at this point," she answered.

After opening the door, Daniel welcomed their guest. "Please come in, Father. Thank you for coming."

"Well, with recent events, it's the least I could do." With a gentle calmness, he stepped through the door's threshold.

Mary was quick to greet the elder Pastor. "Good morning, Father. It's so good of you to come."

Daniel remained lighthearted, but his smile was, in some measure, pleasant cover to deeper thought. For the whole morning he had been noticing the smaller details, the ones he may have in the past overlooked, or taken for granted. He looked at Mary, and he appreciated how committed she was to their marriage. Her willingness to put her own feelings aside in order to make this a memorable day didn't go unnoticed. Daniel felt his understanding of love refreshed. As if with Mary's own hand, it was etched more deeply into his heart.

"I've been making a few calls this morning of a similar nature," Father Murphy suggested, glancing at Daniel's uniform. The verbal cue caused Daniel to refocus his thoughts. "Under the circumstances, I'm happy to stop by," the Pastor added.

Father Murphy was the Parish Priest at Our Lady of Grace and St. Edward Catholic Church on the Chiswick High Road. Being more than two decades Daniel's senior, his tidy appearance and graceful demeanour underscored the gravity of the occasion.

"Please come in," Mary suggested. She took Father Murphy gently by the arm and led him into the front room.

Sully, Patrick, and Ellen stood up out of respect. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, Father," Ellen said. Patrick remained quiet, but polite.

"You remember Steven and David?" Daniel remarked.

"I do," Father replied. "I baptized you when you were just babes-in-arms," he said, looking down at the boys. "You must be proud parents."

"And grandparents," Ellen piped up. Patrick's disinterested expression gave way to a modest smile.

"Father, this is my mother, Ellen and my father, Patrick Curtin."

Greetings were politely exchanged by all.

Daniel walked over to Sully. "And Father, this is Private Sullivan. We're both of the Munster Regiment."

Sully nodded. "Father."

Mary knew Father's time was limited, so she tried to move things along. "Danny, would you mind?"

"Oh, the blessing," Daniel said, reaching into his pocket.

"If you don't mind Father," Mary stated, "Daniel has written his own prayer for the occasion. Would it be too much to consider using it?"

Father Murphy took the paper from Daniel's hand. He mumbled a few indecipherable tones before nodding his head in agreement.

"Yes, this will be nice," he agreed. "So if you'll just move together a little bit more." Father backed up towards the opening to the hallway. "Why don't you two take a knee in front here, yes that's right," he said, as Daniel and Sullivan each knelt on one knee in front of the others. Father Murphy held the blessing on top of the Bible in his left hand.

"Boys, you come beside me," their father requested. Steve and Dave then moved closer and stood just to the left and right behind their dad.

"All right, then, if you'll all bow your heads," said Father Murphy. He raised his right hand to begin his blessing.

"Almighty and Everlasting God," he began to read aloud. "We ask Thee to stretch forth Thy Divine Hand and bless these men before Thee. Please Lord, grant them the temperance to carry out their earthly duties with the knowledge that they go forth as Thy steadfast and faithful servants. Inspire them, we pray, in body and soul with the assurance that Thy presence will strengthen, protect, and comfort them in their time of need. Let them carry Thy cross proudly as a sign of Thy sacrifice. And please let it endue them with courage and loyalty and inspire them to serve Thee with honour and without reproach. We humbly beseech Thee, Oh Lord to watch over them, as well as their loved ones, here, at home. Let Thy everlasting love for us all be a shining example that faith is love rewarded. Let it be the common light, which will guide these, Thy followers, through their separate journeys, until their paths are joined together once again. Please, Lord, support us in life and comfort us in death, and reinforce us with the hope that we may all be reunited with Thee in Thy Heavenly Kingdom."

"We ask this through Christ, our Lord..."

"Amen," they all said in unison.

After a brief pause, Mary stepped forward. "Thank you, Father."

Father nodded and smiled in return.

"Could I get you a cup of tea or something to eat?" Mary asked.

"Thank you, Mrs. Donoghue, but I have another stop to make."

"That was very nice, Daniel," Father added, as the two soldiers stood up. "May I keep this, I might have occasion to use it again."

"Thank you, Father," Daniel replied. "And yes, of course. I'd be delighted if you used it."

"Wait just a minute, my friend," Sully interjected.

"What?" Daniel answered.

"Do you intend to add poor writer to the career of poor Private?" Sullivan implored.

"I don't understand!"

"Father, if I may have a moment before you leave," Sullivan asked, in a confident tone.

"Yes, Private Sullivan," he replied.

Sully put his hand on Father's shoulder and began to walk him to the door. "Have you ever heard of the saying, 'Terms of License'?"

Daniel smiled and shook his head. At the same time, Patrick made eye contact with Daniel before he and Ellen walked over. "I've got to be off to work, Daniel," he said, holding out his hand.

"Thank you for coming by, both of you."

As the two men shook hands, Patrick reflected Ellen's expression of concern. "We'll pray for your safe return, Son."

Daniel looked at Patrick and finally felt like one of the family. The moment, rewarding as it seemed, was fleeting though. Daniel felt a tug on his arm. "Father Murphy is leaving," Mary suggested. "Would you like to say goodbye?"

"Of course," he replied, bidding the Curtin's farewell. He turned to the Reverend. "Thank you for coming, Father. We'll carry your words with us."

"It's a meeting I soon won't forget," Father replied. Glancing over at Sullivan, he added. "You'll never suffer from boredom with this one!" he said, stepping out onto the front step.

Sullivan laughed. "Should I walk you to the street, Father?"

Jokingly, Father Murphy hesitated. "I'm not sure I can afford it," he quipped.

Sully and Father Murphy walked out the front door, leaving only Daniel and his family.

"Boys, would you mind waiting for me on the front step?"

Steve and Dave quietly complied.

"I'll just be a minute with your mother," he said closing the door quietly behind them. Daniel stood, for a moment, facing the closed door. His head was tilted slightly downward. It looked as if he were thinking of what to say, but when he turned around, Mary spoke first.

"Danny," she began. "There's something..."

"Mary," Daniel tried to interject.

"No! Please... I've rehearsed this," she said, her voice quivering. She clasped her hands together. "There's something I want to tell you."

She took a deep breath. "I want you to know, that no matter what happens you leave me with no regrets. I will never wish we had done anything differently." She took a step closer to Daniel.

"Nor do I, Mary!"

"You leave me with no misgivings," she stated clearly, "about the choices I have made, including being the wife of a soldier."

Like Mary's, Daniel's eyes were filled with emotion. "I will come home, Mary. I promise!"

"And, most importantly, you leave me knowing that even if this is the last time we see each other," she said, as tears started down her face, "I would choose again to be your wife and the mother of your children."

Mary wrapped her arms around Daniel and began to sob.

"Oh, Mary," Daniel's voice shook. "You are, and will always be, the best wife any man could wish for."

"I love you so much," Mary cried.

"As I love you, Mary," Daniel said, succumbing to his emotions.

After a few moments passed, the front door opened slowly. Daniel appeared, and stepped through the doorway. Mary remained inside. The boys were sitting near the top of the stairs. Sully leaned on his right leg, while the other one was two steps below.

"I'm telling you, boys," Sully stated, with great enthusiasm. "If I have to carry him across the fields of Flanders on this very back, I'll see that he gets home to you!"

"Flanders?" Dave quietly asked. "Where's Flanders?"

"Promise?" Steve asked, as if playing along.

"I promise!" he replied, slapping his thigh.

"Would ya' swim the channel too?" Dave continued, as his father smiled, standing on the top step.

"Well, of course... I'd..."

"Learn," Daniel interjected.

"I'd learn - to - swim..." Sullivan tried to continue.

"First," Daniel interjected, again.

"I'd learn to swim - first - before I - swam... your father... across the channel," Sullivan stuttered. He tapped his thigh, again. "Why don't I leave you boys so you can have a few moments to yourselves?"

"Thanks, Sully," Daniel said, as he sat down between the boys.

Watching Sully walk out of earshot, Daniel smiled. "Isn't he something?"

"I think Sully's great," Dave added with a big smile.

"All right, then. We haven't much time so I'll come straight to the point," Daniel began. "Until I return, you two are going to have to be the men of the house." He looked back and forth at them. "Do you know what that means?"

"No fighting," Steve replied, while looking down at his shoes.

"No arguing," Dave added.

"That's right," their father agreed, as Sullivan strolled the sidewalk.

"Is that it?" Dave quickly asked.

"Oh no, Dave," Daniel replied. "There's a lot more to acting like a man than that."

"What do you mean by, acting like a man, isn't being a man enough?" Steve asked.

"Well, not really, Steve," he said. "You see, some men are old enough to be called men, but they just don't act like it." Daniel looked up and saw Sully give him a respectful nod.

"Like Sully?" Dave asked. The three of them looked up at Sully.

"Ahem," Daniel cleared his throat and returned Sully's nod. "Let's not use Sully as an example," he suggested, fumbling for the right words.

"Let's just say some boys grow up without anyone teaching them the responsibilities of being a man."

"What are they, Dad?" Dave inquired.

"Well, there are many, Dave, but some do stand out above the rest," Daniel stated.

"Like what?" Dave asked again.

"Like love, honour and respect. We've talked about those before. You remember, don't you? Well there is one thing as important and that something is called integrity."

"Integrity," Dave repeated. "What does that mean, Dad?"

"Well, it means, Steve that you live honestly by your principles. It also means being accountable for what you say and do. In short..."

"It means being a man of your word," Steve piped up.

"That's right, Steve. Good for you!"

After pacing back and forth in front of the neighbours, Sullivan ventured closer. He stopped and leaned on one of the pillars at the end of the walkway.

"The last thing I will say then boys is that having integrity means doing what is right even when it is the most difficult choice to make."

"That's right, lads," Sully said, jumping in with his own advice. "Making the wrong choice is always the easier one to make. Take it from me, I should know!"

"But you're going to fight the Germans just like Dad," Dave said. "So you must have integrity too."

"Guilty by association again, Sully," Mary said, startling the group. After opening the door, she stood in the doorway above them.

"Ah," Sullivan laughed. "Finally a role I'm familiar with."

Daniel stood up then stepped down to the walkway. "Well, boys, I'm afraid it's time Sully and I got under way."

Steve and Dave stood up, and said nothing.

"Give us a big hug," Daniel said, opening his arms.

The boys descended the last stairs and threw their arms around their father. They held each other with the strength of a hundred hugs, a hundred future embraces, for which this would have to account.

Daniel separated himself and descended to one knee. "Now... I'll be writing every opportunity I have. If you don't hear from me for a while, don't worry. It's only because we're on the move. As soon as I'm in a place where I can receive letters, I will let your mother know. She can post your letters as well. Promise you'll write to me, will you?"

The boys nodded.

Again, he looked at them intently. "You remember how it was last time I was away? We may be apart physically but we are always together in spirit, right?"

Steven and David stared at their father, wondering if they should let their true feelings show. Not sure of what to say, they remained silent.

Mary stepped down two stairs. "Boys?" she said, trying to beckon an appropriate response.

"Together, forever," Steve said, softly.

"Forever," Dave repeated.

Both Steve and Dave fought hard to hold back their tears.

"Let me hold your mother one more time," Daniel said before standing and stretching out his arm.

Mary joined Daniel on the front walk. "Now give Sully a big hug, will you?" she suggested to the boys.

"We're going to miss you too, Sully," Steve said. Sully smiled as Steve and Dave hugged him tightly.

After sharing one final kiss, Mary stared into Daniel's eyes. "Now your father and I have already said our goodbyes." Turning to Steven and David, her words rippled with sadness. "So let's allow Sully and your father to be on their way."

"Now, remember boys. You're my brave young soldiers," Daniel said, joining Sully on the sidewalk.

Daniel looked back at his family one more time, before he and Sully began to walk up the road. But before he reached the corner, he felt his heart telling him to look back one more time. He turned around just in time to see Steve run out onto the sidewalk.

With tears in his eyes, he yelled to his father. "We'll be here, Dad! We'll be waiting for you to get back!" he cried.

Mary and David quickly joined Steve, looking at Daniel with tears in their eyes.

"We'll all be here, luv," Mary added, "waiting for you to come home."

Daniel couldn't move his legs. Tears flowed quietly from his eyes.

Then, like a good friend, Sully came to his aid. "Come on, Danny," he said, solemnly. After Sully put his hand on his friend's shoulder, Daniel reluctantly turned.

After Daniel rounded the nearest corner, each dared to consider if they would see the other again. They wondered: had their torment ended... or had it just begun.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

### The B.E.F. to France

You will be home before the leaves

have fallen from the trees.

Kaiser Wilhelm II's speech to departing  
German troops in August 1914

The newly minted 'Earl of Khartoum' accepted the post of Secretary of State for War on the same day that England declared war on Germany. Counting on the near religious devotion his country held for him, it was assumed his stature would help underwrite the nation's expectations of success.

"Did ya' hear Kitchener's been made War Minister?" Private McCormick yelled.

Daniel and Sully looked at their fellow fusilier before Daniel shook his head. "No," he replied.

Their whole battalion were waiting on the ship 'Dunvegan Castle' prior to their departure from Southampton. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of 80,000 men and 30,000 horses were at various stages of deployment to France. It was a dark Wednesday night, August 12th.

"Fitting it is, isn't it?" McCormick hollered again.

"What?" Sully asked.

"That they'd put a tough old Irishman in charge of it all!"

Though Lord Kitchener had not been involved in any part of the preparations prior to deployment, he arrived with credentials affording him a perspective of the overall task facing the nation. Not surprisingly, he soon found his seasoned opinion at odds with his political and military counterparts. Although some of his concerns would fall victim to a plan whose ink had long dried, it did not stop him from imparting on the War Council what he felt awaited England and its departing force.

"We must be prepared," he declared in one meeting, "to put armies of millions in the field and maintain them for several years." This prediction, as well as others, was so inconsistent with the predominant thinking that it left most to wonder to what source they should accredit such inspired thought. Most nations, including Britain and Germany, did not feel they possessed the resources, financial or otherwise, to sustain a protracted war beyond the several months that lay ahead. Nevertheless, it was with this contradiction of perspectives that, under Kitchener's command, Commander-in-Chief Sir John French departed Aldershot, Hampshire, with the best-trained soldiers the country ever sent abroad.

Sir John had at his disposal a force representing almost half of the combat strength of the entire British Army. During the summer of 1914, the divisions stationed in Britain only narrowly exceeded those deployed overseas. At the time there were a total of 48 battalions stationed in India alone. Compared to the continental armies of Europe, Britain's land force was relatively small, designed primarily to serve the needs of its colonial interests. Though her naval strength remained unsurpassed, England would have to rely on the quality rather than the quantity of its fighting men.

With an appreciation of what the B.E.F. (British Expeditionary Force) meant to the country, and the struggle that lay ahead, Lord Kitchener gave his Commander-in-Chief the following instructions: 'Your role,' he inferred, 'is to support and cooperate with the French Army. But as the numerical strength of the British force and its contingent is strictly limited, you should exercise the greatest care towards a minimum of loss and wastage.'

Further orders suggested the C.I.C. (Commander-in-Chief) act decisively, yet remain cautious. If in the coming days this added to the weight of responsibility placed in Sir John's hands, there was one point on which both Kitchener and French would certainly agree... Britain's best would not easily be replaced.

Lieutenant General Sir Douglas Haig commanded the 1st Army Corps, which landed at Le Havre on August 13th. Haig led two divisions, of which the Royal Munster Fusiliers was part of the 1st Guards Brigade, 1st Division. In addition to the Royal Munster Fusiliers (RMF) three other battalions filled the ranks of the 1st Guards Infantry Brigade; the 1st Bn (Battalion) Coldstream Guards, 1st Bn. Scots Guards and the 1st Bn. Black Watch. In all, some 4500 men fell within the charge of Brigadier General Ivor Maxse.

Arriving within sight of French shores at 3 a.m., dawn would come and go before the Munsters found solid ground under their feet. During the lengthy process, French soldiers of the local garrison seized the opportunity by climbing onto the rooftops of their barracks. While each battalion took their turn marching off their sea transport, the French voiced their appreciation by cheering their arrival.

"It's nice to be appreciated, isn't it?" Daniel joked to Sully. Though the men's spirits were high, progress was slow in getting each battalion unloaded off the passenger-cargo vessel.

"Aye, mate," Sully laughed. "I hope the ladies are as glad to see us!"

After congestion caused Daniel and Sully to stop abruptly on the gangway, Sully looked back at his friend. Daniel smiled and shook his head.

While those still aboard ship continued to return their French counterparts' enthusiasm, Daniel couldn't help glancing upward. His eyes squinted under the sun's brightness. I hope this blasted heat breaks soon, he thought to himself, knowing it was becoming one of the hottest Augusts in recent memory.

Sully stared intently at the assembly area. It was a spectacle of bustling activity. "Aren't you just happy to be a part of it?" he yelled.

While two of their companies had already disembarked, Daniel and Sully still waited on the gangway.

A soldier behind Daniel piped up. "Did you ever imagine we'd be set'n foot on French soil?"

Daniel shook his head. "Not under these circumstances," he replied.

Again, Sully looked back at Daniel. He was a few men further down the gangplank. "By the way, Danny," he hollered over the commotion. "I hope the Brigadier doesn't mind, but I told the ship's Captain to wait."

Daniel looked perplexed. "Wait?"

"Yes, well... seeing as we won't be long mopping up this whole thing, I suggested he circle the harbour a few times. You know... pick us up some time tomorrow morning, as it were!"

Daniel laughed along with the group of soldiers around him. Sully smiled and returned his good friend's stare. It was as if they each appreciated the degree to which they were making history.

Just then, their attention was diverted. It was the familiar voice of their Captain. While staking out a claim to an area of the platform, he was attempting to get his unit organized.

"Sergeant," Captain Jervis yelled. "Have D Company fall in behind me."

"Right-Oh, Captain," the Sergeant energetically complied.

Captain Jervis was a slender figure of a man, moustached, and a veteran of the Boer War. "I think it's time we stretch our legs," he added, as if speaking to himself. He looked back toward the men still laughing and cheering aboard the ship.

"D Company!" the Sergeant bellowed. "D Company!" he yelled again, "Fall in!"

Sully grimaced. "Oh that voice is getting on my nerves already."

Soon the gangway flowed freely, and Daniel and Sully were soon happy to be on solid ground.

"Come on then," Daniel shouted, as the two men jogged toward the Sergeant's husky voice. Their sixty-pound packs jostled uncomfortably, as they gripped the strap of the Lee Enfield rifles slung over their shoulder.

With a confident disposition, Captain Jervis nodded his head slightly and took in a large breath of air. While trying to engrave the occasion into his mind, he endeavoured to consult every one of his five senses. The fleeting taste of sea air was momentarily surpassed by a change in the wind. The smell still exhausting from the ship's coal fired engines swirled about. The mechanical sound of firearms clicking, while in the grasp of hurrying soldiers gave way to a grander perception, an imagined bird's eye view of a dock overflowing with organised activity.

"All accounted for, Sir!" Sergeant Foley shouted, coming to attention in front of the Captain.

Captain Jervis stood alongside his mount, holding its reigns. "Thank you, Sergeant," he said, calmly.

"Yes, Sir!" the Sergeant replied, with a crisp salute.

Returning the Sergeant's gesture with mechanical precision, Captain Jervis felt the nail of his right hand middle finger graze the side of his forehead.

After mounting his horse, Jervis muttered to himself. "Now, let's see if we can't get under way?" He looked forward and noticed the battalion's adjutant approaching their superior on horseback.

"Is everything in order?" the Major asked.

With the entire battalion now in formation, its 27 officers and 971 other ranks awaiting the cue to move forward, that order would come from the Commanding Officer of the 2nd Munsters, Major Paul Charrier.

The Battalion's adjutant, Captain Wise, did his best to keep his mount under control. "Everything's in order, Sir!" he replied to the Major.

"Shall we clear this jetty, then?" Major Charrier asked, before giving the order to move forward.

Major Charrier was a man of some stature, both in mind and body. He was, it was said, one of the biggest soldiers in the army. Being the beneficiary of having English and French blood running through his veins, and able to speak fluent French, his familiarity with Northern France added to a list qualifications which had already brought him respect both above and below his command.

Sully glanced at Daniel. "It's about bloody time," he groaned.

Marching out of the dockyard with an enthusiasm worthy of leaving their sea legs on the platform behind them, the Munsters' first destination would be just five miles east of Havre. There, they would endure two full days of rain while waiting their turn to board the train to Le Nouvion.

Despite the inclement weather, Daniel and Sully took everything in stride. They had just spent the day doing route marching and physical training, preparing the reservists, in particular, for the days ahead.

When evening finally arrived, Daniel resumed his old soldiering ways, taking a few moments for himself. In Harfleur, they had been billeted in a barrack left vacated by French soldiers. A dull light illuminated the room, just enough for Daniel to write a letter home.

Sully lay in the bunk next to Daniel. "Say hi to the boys for me, will ya'?"

Daniel smiled. "I already have. This one's to an old friend!"

"Maybe you should wait until there's something to write about," Sully suggested.

"No, mate," Daniel replied. "This is exactly the type of soldiering I want him to hear about."

While waiting to be called into action, Harfleur would be only one of several locations the Royal Munster Fusiliers would have to endure. And Havre would be only one of three points the B.E.F. would utilise to enter France.

Other regiments, which landed at Rouen, were delighted to receive a welcome similar to that of the Munsters. At Boulogne, another Irish regiment, The Connaught Rangers were so inspired by their reception they voiced their appreciation in song. While marching through the town, a London newspaperman witnessed their rendition of a little known song. Reporting the event in The Daily Mail encouraged other regiments to sing the same song; a tune, which he would help make famous.

After marching past the monument dedicated to the spot where Napoleon planned to launch his invasion of England, the Connaught Rangers sang:

~

'Up to mighty London

Came an Irishman one day.

As the streets are paved with gold

Sure, everyone was gay,

Singing songs of Piccadilly,

Strand and Leicester Square,

Till Paddy got excited,

Then he shouted to them there:

It's a long way to Tipperary,

It's a long way to go.

It's a long way to Tipperary

To the sweetest girl I know!

Goodbye, Piccadilly,

Farewell, Leicester Square!

It's a long long way to Tipperary,

But my heart's right there.

~

It's a long way to Tipperary,

It's a long way to go.

It's a long way to Tipperary

To the sweetest girl I know!

Goodbye, Piccadilly,

Farewell, Leicester Square!

It's a long long way to Tipperary,

But my heart's right there.'

~

It was Sunday, the 17th of August when Daniel and his regiment finally entrained for Le Nouvion. From there, the Munsters marched a short five miles before going into billets again, this time in the small farming village of Boue. Here, they would wait for their next call to march towards Maubeurge, France; the B.E.F's concentration point, just six miles south of the Belgian city of Mons.

The war was nearly a fortnight old when the Daniel's regiment resigned itself to another billet. And although there was little to write home about during those first two weeks, much had already occurred within the country in whose direction they were marching.

In the first days of the war, Belgium received its own ultimatum from Germany. In a letter delivered on August 2nd to King Albert, the Kaiser insisted that French troops were already on Belgian soil, advancing against Germany. This was, of course, in direct violation of the 'Treaty of London,' forever guaranteeing Belgian neutrality. It was signed in 1839 and reaffirmed in subsequent years by all the Great Powers of Europe.

In the ultimatum sent to Albert the 1st, the Kaiser demanded that the King, his army, and his people step aside and allow German armies free reign of the geography it required to dispense with the French. As an incentive for compliance, the Kaiser assured King Albert that German armies would promptly return the country to its rightful owner and compensate her for any damages. The Kaiser's only caveat, if Belgium did not comply she would be regarded as an enemy.

With the full knowledge that France had not invaded Belgium, and the prospect of being complicit to a violation of its own neutrality, King Albert considered the consequences of defying the German ultimatum. If Germany is victorious in this European conflict, King Albert reflected, Belgium will undoubtedly be annexed into the German Empire.

After careful consideration, the King made one of the war's first heroic gestures, insisting; 'Our answer must be NO!' And as if to secure the most defensible position in the history books, King Albert would not ask for Britain's help until the aggressor had actually invaded. In fact, so proud was Belgium of her sovereignty, that when Britain offered to send troops in advance of a German invasion, they replied, 'if you land on Belgian soil before a request is made, you should expect to be fired upon.' With King Albert's brave response, on August 4th, the German Army invaded Belgium.

As the British Expeditionary Force continued to concentrate its regiments into divisions and divisions into their respective corps and thus into an army capable of engaging the enemy, Sir John French established his headquarters at Le Cateau. They were now only 30 miles south of Mons, Belgium. While Sir John struggled with his French counterpart, General Joffre, to coordinate their respective forces, General Archibald Murray, Chief of the General's staff, worked to keep abreast of both German and French troop movements. The British located their G.H.Q., or General Head Quarters, in a schoolhouse in the centre of the village.

Standing at the front of a medium sized room, General Murray prepared to address his staff. A large map of Europe covered the wall behind him, while officers of nearly every rank sat before him. Generals Haig and Smith-Dorrien, commanders of the 1st and 2nd Corps respectively, were beside one another, Smith-Dorrien having only recently replaced General Grierson. Grierson died suddenly while on a train near Amiens. General Henry Wilson, Deputy Chief of Staff, and the B.E.F.'s Intelligence head, Colonel George Macdonogh, were also at the front of a sizeable audience.

"Based on our best intelligence," General Murray began, "the German Imperial armies are amassing along a line roughly north to south."

General Murray directed his pointer toward the frontier regions of the Alsace and Lorraine, a geographic area on the German French boarder lost by France during the Franco-Prussian War.

~

Western Front, 1914. Map courtesy of the Department of History, United States Military Academy.

~

At this very same moment, Patrick was sitting down in his front parlour. The Sunday edition of the Times was held tightly within his hands. After flipping forward a couple of pages, he found an article written by the war correspondent, Colonel Repington. With the aid of a map similar to that of General Murray's, the ex-military man explained to his readers the German offensive strategy known as the Schleifen Plan.

~ ~ ~

"As far as we know at this point," the Chief of the General Staff continued, "the German left wing is made up of its Sixth and Seventh Armies. They are in the vicinity of Strasbourg. Its centre accounts for the Fourth and Fifth, stretching northward to Luxembourg. And, what is of concern to us are the Armies of the Third, Second and First." This time pointing from the Ardennes regions to the common border area between Germany and Belgium. Then turning back to the officers before him, he added: "They are, of course, commanded by Generals Hausen, Bulow and von Kluck. These," he stated somewhat ominously," are the armies of Schleifen's right wing... otherwise known as the German Hammer."

~ ~ ~

While reading his paper, Patrick cleared his throat. As if exhibiting gestures of concern, he snapped the paper and readjusted himself into a more comfortable seating position. He read on with some trepidation...

Named after the Count of the same name, the Schleifen Plan was designed to deal with the scenario presently unfolding in Europe. The Triple Entente of 1907, which formed an alliance between Britain, France and Russia, confirmed if Germany had to go to war in Europe, it would have to fight a war on two fronts; in the east against Russia and to the west against France and possibly Britain.

The Schleifen Plan would take advantage of the time Russia needed to mobilize her huge army, thought at the time to take approximately six weeks. To avoid getting bogged down with the time consuming siege of French forts along their common border, it called for German armies to bypass the frontier regions of Alsace and Lorraine; a strong right flanking action was essential to decisively defeat French forces. Only after accomplishing this would they redeploy to the Russian front. With the armies employed in the German right wing requiring the vast fields of Flanders to turn and head south, the need to violate Belgian neutrality in the process reduced the sovereign nation to an obstacle on the road to victory.

~ ~ ~

Turing back to the map behind him, General Murray continued. "Now, General Joffre's French armies are in reverse to that of the German's." Murray continued with his pointer. After a short briefing on the whereabouts of France's armies, the General engaged the officers of the B.E.F. before him.

"Now, our role is to link up on the left of the French Fifth Army, under General Lanrezac. He is in the region of the Ardennes. It is our understanding that General Joffre, (the French Commander-in-Chief) is placing a great emphasis on an offensive designed to break through in the frontier regions of the Alsace and Lorraine. His intention is to cut the German armies in half, separating the right wing from its supply infrastructure."

"Sir?" A voice came from the crowd.

"Yes," General Murray responded, looking several rows back from the front.

"Any word on how that effort is progressing?"

The General sighed. "Although our information at this point is sketchy, it does not appear as though it's going well, at least as well as Joffre would have hoped."

~ ~ ~

After finishing the piece describing the German Schliefen Plan in some detail, Patrick continued reading article after article on the war's progress. As of late, he seemed almost obsessed by the unfolding crisis in Europe. Asking his wife for a measure of understanding, Ellen acquiesced, agreeing with her husband that they were witnessing something more akin to a sprint rather than a marathon.

Patrick was attracted to serious news. In fact, his personality seemed to drink it up. Ellen, however, retained some perspective. Her capacity for worry, which had previously been filled with concern for Daniel, now included her husband. Patrick was buying two or three newspapers a day and reading them from cover to cover.

If news with regard to German troop movements wasn't enough to give Patrick pause, grave headlines in the Star and the Evening News, underscoring the French strategy, were hard to ignore.

The French Commander-in-Chief, General Joffre determined that if a disproportionate amount of resources were deployed in the German right wing advancing through Belgium, the German centre and left would be weakened as a result.

Plan 17, as it was called, endeavoured to accomplish two goals. First, it would attempt to exploit this perceived vulnerability by slicing the German forces in half, stranding the huge German right wing. After being cut off from its crucial supply infrastructure, the promise of an early end to the war would be quickly fulfilled. Secondly, it enabled France to retake the frontier regions of Alsace and Lorraine, which it lost to the Prussians in 1871.

The French plan did not, however, account for stiff German resistance slowing a French breakthrough, and therefore provided little defence against enveloping German armies successfully descending southward out of Belgium.

~ ~ ~

"Now as far as our objectives moving forward," General Murray stated, pointing toward the map again.

But before the Chief could continue, the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted him. It was the B.E.F.'s Commander-in-Chief.

Recognising the tone, General Murray turned around. "Any reports on casualties, Archie?" Sir John asked. His sombre tone still reflected the loss of his good friend, General James Grierson.

The Chief of Staff paused. "Heavy, Sir," was all he said.

~ ~ ~

From the kitchen, Ellen called for her husband. "Patrick!"

In the absence of a reply, she repeated, "Patrick, luv, would you like a cup of tea?"

Patrick put his paper down and stared straight ahead. He seemed dumbfounded by the figure: French casualties in the first four days of battle alone were reported to be in the range of 140,000.

"140,000! How is that possible?" he quietly asked himself.

"Patrick," Ellen called, again. "Are you in there?"

Patrick got up from his chair and met Ellen in the hallway near the stairs.

"Is everything all right? You look pale."

"I'm fine," he replied, disguising the truth. He didn't want to worry Ellen and was hesitant to make eye contact with her. The latest war news caused him to wonder whether the B.E.F. were fully aware of what lay ahead. His thoughts turned to Daniel before Ellen made an effort to see through his blank stare.

"I'll be going to bed now," he said, feigning a smile. "I'm a little tired tonight."

CHAPTER TWELVE

### Mons and the withdrawal

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

for he today that sheds his blood with me;

shall be my brother.

William Shakespeare

Along the frontier regions of the French-German border, the Alsace and Lorraine regions had been experiencing ongoing battles since the middle of August. During these first weeks of the war, French Armies struggled valiantly to break through their German counterparts while executing Plan 17. But by the 20th, General Joffre's French offensives had been repelled by well-prepared German defences. Entrenched machine gun positions supported by heavy artillery rendered the French determination, the fighting spirit of 'elan,' tragically ineffective.

At this time, French Infantrymen were schooled in the theory that achieving victory on the battlefield was as much a matter of the mind as it was their weaponry. If a soldier on the threshold of battle possessed the sufficient passion or desire for victory, this alone would be enough to place the tricolore in the triumphant hand. Despite their early setbacks, French Commanders remained resolute in their plan. The final attempt at a breakthrough would rest with General Lanrezac and his Fifth Army in the area of the Ardennes.

With the highly respected French strategist now voicing his concerns to his superior, General Joffre, the B.E.F. readied themselves for battle, concentrating its forces in the area of Maubeurge, France. In this vicinity, roughly 10 miles west of Le Cateau, the Royal Munster Fusiliers were biding their time in Boue, wondering when they would be called to march again.

"How much?" Sully asked. "Combien... Combien?"

While Sullivan struggled to converse with the Matron of a small farm on the outskirts of Boue, he and his fellow 'D' Company soldiers were left to awkward attempts at 'pidgin' French and sign language to barter for the extra food or services they wanted.

"Qu'est ce que tu veut?" she responded.

Standing outside of her modest farmhouse, the middle-aged woman presided over a makeshift table full of baked goods. "Pain ou patisserie?" she asked. Her black dress was fronted by a large apron, while her smile and large figure added to her cheerful comportment.

During a typical billet, one Company of the B.E.F. would occupy a small farm. Officers would take up residence in the farmhouse, while all other ranks occupied barns and outbuildings. Proving on the local level that war is good for business, the host families were usually paid 5 francs for Officers and 1 franc for all other ranks.

"Pain, is that what you call it... pain?" Sully asked, pointing to a chocolate covered croissant. After Sully handed over a small amount of coins, the elderly lady plopped a small loaf of fresh bread in one hand, and the appropriate change in the other.

"Qui-est prochain?" "Who's next?" she ordered. With a no-nonsense type demeanour, the vendor quickly glanced around Sullivan to the soldier behind him.

"Non... Non!" Sully blurted. He was stunned by the fact that the loaf of bread in his hand in no way resembled the croissant he wanted. His protest fell on deaf ears, however, as the Private behind pushed him out of the way, causing him to stumble for several paces. For a moment, Sully stared at the bread in his left hand. As if to add to his disappointment, laughter soon caught Sully's attention, causing him to look to his left. It was Daniel, sitting under a large shade tree.

Sully looked back at the vendor's stall, glancing from the croissants to his loaf of bread. "It's the story of my life," he said, giving up on making an exchange. He shook his head and plodded over to Daniel before sitting down beside him.

Daniel smiled. "What's the story of your life?" he asked, knowing he was better positioned than his friend to see the humour in the situation.

Sully broke off a small crusty section of the loaf, and took a bite. "The sweetest things in life seem to be just beyond my reach." With muffled words, he jokingly outstretched his hand to grasp at the thin air in front of him.

Daniel laughed, giving some consideration to a thoughtful reply. But before he could respond, Sullivan's curiosity was aroused by a young woman appearing from the farmhouse.

Sully raised his eyebrows. "Oh, mon cheri!" he declared.

Daniel was surprised by his friend's French accent and newly learned phrase. Then, looking over in her direction, Daniel could see she was carrying what looked like a fresh tray of baking to re-supply the vendor, which was most likely her mother. Daniel glanced first at Sully and then the young woman.

"Take this, will you!" Sully stated.

Daniel was startled first by Sully grabbing his wrist, secondly, by the small loaf of bread being plunged into his hand.

Sully stood up without taking his eyes off the dark-haired woman. "I think I'll have a look at the latest sweets from the kitchen!"

"You'd better hurry if you want to avoid the rush," Daniel laughed. He looked past Sully and noticed the other single men of the company rushing forward.

"Would you look at that?" Sully gasped. "Have they no shame?"

"Have you?"

"Not in the least," Sully replied, before taking off in an attempt to beat his mates to the table.

"Just remember," Daniel shouted. "Her mother will place a higher value on the currency of character!"

Daniel watched as the men jostled about, trying to receive an acknowledging glance from the attractive young lady. Being the beneficiary of a more tranquil perspective, he smiled before reflecting: if war is good for business... then surely, for the moment, it has superbly been surpassed.

If an eagerness to get on with it defined the Munsters' time in Boue, anxiety exemplified the posture of those waiting back home in Chiswick. Mary and the boys found comfort in spending more time with Ellen and Patrick at their house, waiting for news, both in paper and in post. When the first letters began to arrive back home, they were as coveted as intelligence reports regarding enemy troop movements.

"There's one here for you," Cheryl announced, before passing the small letter to her husband. She continued into the kitchen in a preoccupied fashion while flipping through the day's post. Lorne didn't receive letters often, and Cheryl had already guessed to whom the handwriting belonged. The fact that it was postmarked France confirmed her suspicions. It instantly made her anxious. She had done her best to dissuade her husband from enlisting. She had made her point clear, and now all she could do was wait. Though the final decision was, of course, his, she could see in his face that the pressure for able-bodied men to enlist was mounting.

Lorne looked pleasantly surprised. "Would you believe it?" he stated. "It's from Danny!" Lorne plopped himself into his favourite chair in the front room.

"So soon?" was Cheryl's faint reply.

After opening the envelope, Lorne began mumbling to himself as he read.

"What has he got to say?" Cheryl hollered from the kitchen.

Lorne's familiar smile turned to an expression of muted disbelief. "It seems he's gone to France to do physical training!"

"He's what?" Cheryl asked, poking her head around the corner.

Lorne looked up with an expression of confusion, having dropped the letter into his lap. "Can you imagine," he exclaimed. "They've been marching in circles for the past two days!"

Somewhat surprisingly, Daniel's letter posted at Havre had already made it home.

"I don't understand," Cheryl replied. "Are they lost?"

"Of course not, woman," Lorne gasped. "The British Army doesn't get lost! They're waiting their turn to board the train for..." he looked back to his letter, "he can't say for where, but," he added before being interrupted by Cheryl.

Cheryl laughed. "What, does he think we'll tell the Germans?"

"Of course he doesn't think we'll tell the Germans." By now, Lorne's frustration was obvious. "That's not the point."

"What's your point then?" Cheryl asked. Her expression now condescending.

"The point is," Lorne began, with an exasperated tone, "they've been having the same wretched weather we've been having!"

Cheryl gave her husband that familiar expression, as if he hadn't made his point yet.

"They've been marching around for two solid days... in the bloomin' rain!" he implored.

"Well," Cheryl said, pausing for a moment, "I never pictured Danny as a fair weather soldier." Cheryl smiled and walked back into the kitchen.

Lorne shook his head. "So uncivilized," he muttered, "makes a man appreciate working with a roof over his head."

"Did you say something, luv?" Cheryl asked.

"I said it makes a man appreciate... Oh... never mind."

Lorne looked at the letter again and found a greater appreciation for the only employer he had ever worked for, the Fulham Hospital.

"Does that mean you're changing your mind about enlisting?" Cheryl hollered. She stood in front of her sink and waited somewhat anxiously for his reply.

"Well, until they come banging at the door. I think I'll be happy with my command over the purchasing department."

With her husband's reply, Cheryl's spirit soared. "Thank you, Danny!" she whispered to herself. After looking out the small window in front of her, a new appreciation for the ancient element welled up in her. "Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain!" she softly repeated.

"I'm too old for that nonsense," Lorne said, as if to himself. He groaned slightly while getting up from his chair.

"I'm going to go down to the pub for a pint," he announced. "Will you send one of the girls down when supper's ready?"

"Don't forget your umbrella!" Cheryl called from the kitchen. "It's raining again."

"All right... all right," Lorne replied. "Blasted rain," he grumbled before closing the door behind him.

The following evening, Friday, the 21st, Mary sat quietly with her father and mother in their front room. Steven and David were under orders to remain quiet, to play without disturbing the peace. The dinner hour had come and gone, and the reading hour had commenced. Since Daniel's deployment, it had become the habit of Mary, Ellen and Patrick to spend some time each evening reading the daily papers.

Ellen's teacup clinked into her saucer. She glanced up after feeling Patrick's silent stare. Though her daughter's concentration remained undisturbed, Ellen had the distinct feeling she should be more careful, that her lack of dexterity was somehow out of order. She tilted her head and looked over her reading glasses, waiting for her husband to acquiesce. And in so doing, his eyes were returned to his paper.

Mary was the model of repose, moreover reserved, even while sipping her tea.

Suddenly, the silence was broken: "CONTEMPTIBLE, MY ARSE!" Patrick blurted out of the blue.

The sound of china teacups making unceremonious contact with their saucers defined the first response. The chortle of two young boys in the other room accounted for the second.

"Patrick!" Ellen retorted. Two of three papers quickly fell into their readers' laps.

Mary looked at her father with disgust. "Maybe you'd like to rephrase that, Father, at least for the boys' sake!"

Patrick lowered his paper. "Those are the Kaiser's words, not mine." Contriteness was momentarily evident in his expression.

He snapped the right page of his paper. "Well, one of them is," he admitted.

"Honestly, Patrick," Ellen implored. "You should try not to get yourself so worked up."

Patrick seemed astonished. "Have neither of you read this?"

"Read what?" Mary asked.

"The bloody Kaiser's called the B.E.F. a contemptible little army!"

Mary reset her teacup and began to get up. "He's called them what?" After coming in behind her father's chair, Patrick continued.

"Listen to this! And I quote, It is my Royal and Imperial command that you concentrate your energies, for the immediate present, upon one single purpose, and that is that you address all your skill and all the valour of my soldiers to exterminate first the treacherous English and walk over General French's contemptible little army."

Mary looked at her father, yet as surprised as they were with the impertinent command, the Kaiser was even more astonished than they when he found out only yesterday that the British Expeditionary Force had landed in France.

Even though the German right wing was, by this time, wheeling through Belgium, and Brussels was falling under the might of the 1st Army, General von Kluck remained unaware that the British were assembling in front of him. Astonishingly, secrecy prevailed until August 20th when the General read in a Belgian newspaper of the B.E.F's safe arrival on French soil. When Kaiser Wilhelm was alerted to this fact, his ire at the British landing was recorded in newspapers around the world.

Patrick's paper crumpled before him. "Can you imagine the arrogance of the man?" he asked.

Mary only looked at her mother. Equally aghast, they could be forgiven if their concern was not for the repugnant statement, but what it meant for a single soldier. A sense of foreboding descended upon Mary.

"Does the man know who he's dealing with?" Patrick implored. "It's the bloody British Army he's talking about." Patrick readied himself to continue on with his reading. "I wonder what Daniel would have to say about that?"

As General Kluck and his 1st Army prepared to engage the B.E.F head on, the Kaiser's quote began to take hold. Though the German Emperor would later deny ever making such a statement, the men of the B.E.F. readily accepted the royal title. From that day forth, they would wear the moniker 'The Old Comtemptibles' with pride.

It was in the village of Soignes, just east of Mons, Belgium, where the British Expeditionary Force first encountered their enemy. While conducting forward reconnaissance, British Cavalry spotted a small group of German Cavalry scouting the road to Mons in advance of the German 1st Army. 'Uhlans,' as they were called, were distinguishable by their square-topped helmets and long lances.

Although by now, too many Belgians had learned to fear the atrocities with which the Uhlans were associated, the small group of British horsemen were undaunted; they eagerly pursued them right into the narrow streets of Soignes. With cumbersome lances that were no match for trained swords in tight quarters, the British cavalry dispatched the German riders with the pride of having opened the war with chivalrous English style.

The Battle of Mons began on Sunday, August 23rd, and although General Smith-Dorien's 2nd Corps initially inflicted heavy casualties on the Germans, relentless enemy numbers required the B.E.F. to conduct a tactical withdrawal. To what degree he weighed the advantages afforded to the pursuer, General Kluck paused, deciding instead to wait until reinforcements arrived. Seizing on the opportunity to regroup, General French, with the ever-optimistic Wilson at his side, drafted new orders. They would resume the offensive the next morning.

With their recent encounter only several hours old, both the British and the Germans were still unaware as to the strength of the forces opposing them. At this point British G.H.Q. still put the strength of the German forces in front of them at one, possibly two Corps, with one Division of Cavalry. Numerical superiority, the British thought, was an advantage they still possessed.

It was near midnight of the same day when General Wilson, the ranking officer remaining at headquarters, was going over the latest reports. A telegram had arrived a few hours earlier from General Joffre. It contained fresh intelligence on the strength of the opposing enemy. Wilson slowly paced the now quiet hall while flipping through pages of troop movements. Some were from British Intelligence, while the information from the French contained numbers and units of killed and captured German soldiers.

General Wilson turned page after page, glancing to and from the map on the wall. His brow furrowed as if the numbers didn't make sense.

This can't be," he said to himself. Turning back toward the large table off to one side of the room, he took out his pencil and did some rudimentary arithmetic.

After finishing his calculations, he looked up. Though his face remained expressionless, it defied the revelation bursting inside of his head.

What the Deputy Chief of the General's Staff realized was their initial troop calculations were grossly inaccurate. With French intelligence indicating German Reserve units had been captured with their frontline counterparts, it was obvious the Germans were throwing every resource they possessed into their right wing envelopment strategy. The German troops descending upon them were, in fact, in the order of 3 Corps, with a Cavalry Corps of 2 Divisions. They were dangerously outnumbered. The entirety of the German right wing would eventually be recorded as consisting of approximately 700,000 troops.

General Wilson quickly reconfirmed his numbers, coming to the same conclusion. "I've got to inform Sir John!" he said, quietly. Hearing those words, an aide looked over at Wilson. But before General Wilson could issue the order, a man burst into the room. It was Lieutenant Spears, a British liaison officer with the French 5th Army.

"Sir," the Lieutenant said, saluting. He panted heavily, as if he were out of breath. "I've news from General Lanrezac."

General Wilson sensed the alarm in the Lieutenant's voice. "Yes?" the General beckoned.

"The French 5th has broken off contact with the enemy. They are in full withdrawal."

Wilson was stunned. He glared at Spears. "In full withdrawal?" Wilson repeated.

"Yes, Sir."

Hardly giving the news a moment to sink in, the General turned to his aid. "You'd better wake the Commander-in-Chief. Tell him," he said, pausing, "Tell him the entire French 5th is retiring." General Wilson turned around to look at the map. His blank expression exemplified his disbelief. He looked back at the other two men in the room; Wilson realized the hope of a quick end to the war had just vanished.

As a result of his army suffering heavy losses trying to throw the advancing Germans back across the Marne River, and his perceived peril as a result of the 4th French Army retreating on his right, General Lanrezac had to make a fateful choice. Continue fighting and risk the final blow of annihilation the German right wing wanted to inflict on both he and the British, or retreat until the French Army as a whole could fight cohesively again. In choosing the latter, the fate of Plan 17 was sealed.

~

(Schleiffen Plan, 1914. Map courtesy of the Department of History, United States Military Academy)

~

Whether it was the haste of the moments following that order, or simply a lack of concern for his ally, General Lanrezac's order to retire was followed without consulting or even informing the British. Finding themselves in a state of their right flank being unduly exposed, General French reversed his previous order to resume the offensive in the morning and issued an order to retire in the hopes of remaining in line with the French 5th.

"Sully, wake up!" Daniel said "Wake up, Sully," he repeated. Daniel hastily put on his sixty-pound pack. With eyes squinting, Sullivan looked at Daniel as if he were momentarily confused.

"Ahh, mate, you just ruined a perfectly good dream. I was back in Boue with that beautiful..."

Daniel interrupted. "Come on, we've no time for that!" Again, his voice matched his anxious demeanour.

"What time is it?" Sully asked, trying to wake himself up.

"It's nearing 3 a.m., let's go. We've got to get moving," Daniel continued hastily.

The latest march of the 2nd Battalion of the Royal Munster Fusiliers covered no less than 40 miles, bringing them to a farm near Grandreng, on the Belgian frontier. While the Battle of Mons raged during the previous day, their battalion was held in reserve. They were only a dozen or so miles south of Mons.

"Can't the blasted battle wait till morning?" Sully groggily asked. Sully got up slowly at first, but then he realized that several Companies were getting into formation in the large field in front of them.

"It's not forward we're marching, mate," Daniel stated. He held Sully's pack as he slid his arms through the shoulder straps.

"Has anyone heard the orders?" Sully asked. He grabbed his Lee Enfield rifle and turned around to see Daniel anxious to get moving.

"The whole bloody Corps is retiring," Daniel stated, throwing his rifle over his shoulder.

"What?" Sully exclaimed.

"I can't be certain," Daniel suggested. "At this point, that's all the word we have." Daniel looked out toward the field where it seemed half the Regiment was already assembled.

"We'd better get out there!" he added, before he and Sully lumbered in the direction of 'D' Company.

Incredibly, the Munsters' next arduous march would be carried out over the following three days and lead the regiment back by a different route, close to where they started, at Boue.

During the ensuing retirement from Mons, General Smith-Dorrien's 2nd Corps marched south-west along the north side of the Sambre, while General Haig's 1st followed the south side of the north-easterly flowing river. This would have the unfortunate effect of cutting off communication between the two Corps for several days.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

### The Munsters stand at Etreux

You cannot run away from a weakness. You must

sometimes fight it out or perish; and if that be so,

why not now, and where you stand.

Robert Louis Stevenson

By Thursday morning, August 27th, the Munster Fusiliers had been enduring a southward march for an agonising three days. During this time, Brigadier General Ivor Maxse, commander of the 1st Infantry Brigade, was under orders from General Haig to secure the withdrawal of the 1st Army Corps. General Lanrezac and his 5th French Army were on the right, or to the east, while General Smith-Dorrien and the rest of British Expeditionary Force were on the left, or west of the Munsters, on the other side of the Marne River. It should be noted that, while advancing, the perspective of an army's left and right flank are retained during their retreat.

Day after day the goal of envelopment fuelled the menacing pursuit of General von Kluck and his 1st Army. As they pressed hard, their hounding tactics reinforced for Brigadier General Maxse the constant threat of being overrun. Every effort to distance themselves from the advancing German army seemed to be dashed as enemy troops appeared relentlessly at every turn. As a result, it was becoming evident an orderly withdrawal under these circumstances was not only threatening to cut them off from their French allies, but also slowing the entire Corps retreat. In an effort to provide for the unmolested retirement of its two Divisions, General Maxse issued an order for the Royal Munster Fusiliers to cover the withdrawal of the remainder of the 1st Corps rearguard.

After being billeted the night before near Fesmy, a small village located southeast of Le Cateau, the 2nd Battalion of the Munsters awaited the day's orders. In a somewhat informal manner, the men of 'B', 'C' and 'D' Companies with two platoons of 'A' Company were scattered about in a farmer's field. They were taking advantage of their last few moments to rest, expecting at any moment to resume their withdrawal.

Major Paul Charrier, the Munsters' Commanding Officer had been relaxing the usual stiff protocol in consideration of the relentless marching accomplished in the last few days. But as the men prepared to dawn their packs and shoulder their rifles, two horse drawn field guns rolled in unexpectedly.

"Were can I find Major Charrier?" the mounted officer asked.

A private from 'C' Company stepped forward and saluted. "He'd be over there, Sir, by that farmhouse."

"Thank you, Private," the man stated, tipping his riding crop toward his cap.

The officer and his two field guns rolled ominously toward Major Charrier, each gun being pulled by six horses. More than just inquisitive eyes were affixed to the cannon's methodical movement, as most men knew with their arrival new orders were sure to follow.

"Somethin's up," one private said to another. With most of the battalion looking on, the artillery came to a stop in an unoccupied part of the field.

The officer in charge of the artillery support was Major A. R. Bayly of the 118th Battery, Royal Field Artillery. He dismounted his horse and joined the Munster officer staff at their makeshift command post. They were assembled outside the farmhouse where they had just spent the night.

In addition to the 118th R.F.A. (Royal Field Artillery), Major Charrier was given to dispose of on his own account a troop of cavalry from the 15th Hussars. Attempting to cover his right flank, the Major had already sent the 'C' Squadron Hussars of the 1st Cavalry Division with half of his 'A' Company to the village of Bruges, some two miles south-east of the battalions present position.

After what seemed to be a short exchange of both introductions and orders, Major Charrier dispatched his captains to assemble their respective companies. It took only moments to relay that order and shouts were soon heard calling the battalion into formation. Then as if the stillness of his men beckoned his attention, Major Charrier glanced over the shoulder of Major Bayly and concluded their briefing. The two officers then made the short walk together, bringing Major Charrier in position to address the men of his command.

"Attention!" an officer barked.

The Major came to a stop in front of his Battalion. "Thank you, Captain," he stated, giving his adjutant, Captain Douglas Wise, a nod of acknowledgement.

It could be said, Major Charrier's appearance was consistent with that of an officer of the British Army in every way, save one.

His tunic was the usual green, thickly belted around the waist with a thinner cross strap from his right shoulder to his left hip. His standard issue Webley revolver was holstered just to the right of his front belt buckle, and a compass pouch slung toward the left. Even the whistle hanging at the ready from collar lanyards would be noticed as standard attire if it were not for his most prominent detail. Crowning it all, he proudly wore the green and white hackle of his regiment conspicuously presented on his prized khaki beige helmet.

"At ease, gentlemen, at ease," Major Charrier began with a loud voice. His four companies quickly relaxed their postures.

"Alright men, I'll come straight to the point. You are all by now very aware that the Germans are hot on our heels."

"Painfully, I'd say!" someone hollered. Laughter rippled through the ranks as the meeting quickly took on a nature of informality.

"I'd like to send Fritz the bill for these boots, Sir," another stated loudly, from the front row of 'B' Company. Again, laughter lightened the men's spirits.

Major Charrier smiled. "Thank you, Private," he replied. "I'll see if I can't put you in touch with General Kluck's Quartermaster!"

During a short pause, the Major proudly looked out over his battalion. As every soldier returned his stare, it was obvious why he was respected by his men.

"First, let me congratulate every one of you for the way you've carried out the order to retire. I know these last couple of days have been trying to say the least."

"Here, here!" could be heard from the middle of the assembly.

"Yes, and I think," the Major continued, "I think I speak for us all when I say there is not an Irishman among us who prefers the order to retreat over the order to advance," The Major was silenced by boisterous cheers bellowing from every soldier standing in front of him.

"It's not in the Irish blood, Sir!" one officer shouted.

"And I know," he said, trying to carry on, "I know for certain every Irishman here would rather stand and fight," he stated, raising his voice over the raucous. "And face his enemy... instead of running from him!" The Major smiled and nodded his head in approval as the men before him went wild with cheerful applause.

"Just give us the word, Sir!" another captain shouted.

"Alright men, alright," the Major repeated. He paused a moment as the men tried their best to calm down.

"If it's orders to engage the enemy you want, then your orders you shall have!" Again, he smiled proudly, looking out over his cheering battalion. While some men thrust their rifles up into the air, others waved their caps.

"Captain Wise," the Major said, turning to his adjutant. "Will you bring the men to attention?"

"Certainly, Sir!" the Captain replied.

"Attention!" the Captain shouted, bringing every man to a standstill.

"Men, on behalf of General Haig, Brigadier General Maxse has bestowed upon us the honour of securing the remainder of the rearguard for the Corp. Your captains will be issuing your orders in a few moments," the Major paused, before continuing. "It is with the utmost sincerity when I say that I know you will carry out this order with the pride and professionalism that is so typical of the Munsters."

"Here, Here!" could be heard from several officers and men.

"Captain Wise," the Major asked. "Would you mind leading us in prayer before the men are dismissed?"

"Of course, Sir, do you think the 23rd Psalm would be appropriate?"

Major Charrier nodded. "An excellent choice, Captain."

"Alright men," Captain Wise stated loudly. "Would everyone please remove your caps and bow your heads."

After the battalion settled, Captain Wise raised his voice to execute what had become a tradition for the Irish Catholic regiment.

"The 23rd Psalm, men."

Many joined in unison:

'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.'

A short moment of silence ensued, before the Major spoke up. "Thank you, Captain Wise, and thank you, men. Good luck today," he said, looking to his fellow officers and men. They all replaced their caps.

Following a few formalities, Major Charrier began to leave for his temporary command post.

"Let's hear it for the Major, then," Captain Wise yelled out.

"Hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray!" The battalion shouted. Turning to wave to his men, Major Charrier was the subject of Major Bayly's admiration.

Since the countryside in this area of France was not conducive to troops moving easily through open fields, Major Charrier focussed his resources at road junctures through which the enemy would have to advance. 'B' and 'D' Companies were sent to one such road crossing in a small village called Chapeau-Rouge (Haut Reve on the Battle of Etreux map,) approximately one mile to the north of Fesmy. Most of 'C' Company was sent to another intersection of roads a mile to the east where they could defend the Munsters' Battalion Headquarters on the north side of Fesmy. From these north-easterly facing positions, Major Charrier expected his men to be engaged by German forces, advancing roughly from a southwesterly direction.

At this time, the Major's early reconnaissance returned, bringing with them fresh news of the Allied (French 5th Army) withdrawal on their right. The Munsters wasted little time digging in their positions as the rest of General Haig's 1st Army retired behind them in a southerly direction. As every man feverishly prepared themselves for the inevitable clash of forces, they did not know that an entire German Army Corps was nearly on top of them. The 10th Reserve Army Corps was advancing quickly by two of the routes, which the Munsters were holding as their first line of defence.

At approximately 9 a.m. one of 'D' Company's forward lookouts sprinted back and slid into their shallow dugout. Somewhat ominously, German cavalry had just appeared on the road leading into Chapeau-Rouge. It was a patrol of the 17th Brunswick Hussars, scouting in advance of their main column of infantry.

"German Cavalry, Sir!" the private hollered, panting. After taking up his position, he levelled his rifle in the direction of the cavalry just up the road.

'D' Company had dug themselves in by squads, roughly eight men per shallow trench, on both sides of the road leading into in Chapeau-Rouge. Here, they were informally staggered facing in a north-easterly direction, while 'B' Company had done the same, but facing roughly north-west.

"Alright, they've spotted our position," Captain Jervis stated. He was standing just behind his entrenched men, taking advantage of the cover of a few trees.

The Captain looked through his field glasses. "Lieutenant, have One Platoon fire five sporadic rounds. Let's have them think we're only a patrol. A shot across their bow, as it were."

Five .303 rounds were fired at a random interval. All were intentionally aimed high of their mark. Not surprisingly, one of the Brunswick Hussars, an emboldened cavalryman, looking as if he were preparing to bolt in the Munsters' direction, was ordered to stand down by his superior. Reluctantly, he dismounted and joined the others. Although Captain Jervis's ploy to misrepresent the size of his force was clever bait, the German patrol decided to take cover and wait for reinforcements.

"That's just like Cavalrymen isn't it?" Private Sullivan stated, leering over the barrel of his rifle. He could see the half-dozen men sitting alongside the road near a grove of tall trees. Somewhat anxiously, the German patrol could be seen glancing up the road to the north.

"What is?" Daniel asked. The two men were separated by only a couple of feet in the dugout containing five other men.

"They think it's beneath them to get dirty," Private Graham interjected.

Sully looked at his fellow Munster. "Well, it's certainly not beneath you, now is it?" he joked.

Private Graham glanced at his dirty uniform and used his free hand to dust himself off. Glancing at Sully, his expression seemed to infer he was simultaneously brushing off Sully's comment.

"I think they're waiting for the Schnapps to arrive," Daniel suggested, after rolling onto his side.

As the men further admonished their enemy, another private noticed the Uhlans pull a bottle from one of the horse's packs.

Private McCrombie shook his head. "Would you look at that," he stated incredulously.

"Look at what?" Sullivan inquired. Turning to look up the road, Sully noticed the dismounted cavalrymen sharing swigs from some sort of wine or liquor bottle.

"Isn't a bit early for that?" Private Graham suggested.

Daniel was emboldened. "They'll be needin' more than liquid courage to ride through the likes of us."

"I'll say," Sully added. "Why, I think I could shatter that bottle easily from here." The range of his Lee Enfield sight was adjustable up to 2000 yards.

"Now, now, Private," Captain Jervis stated. "Let them drink, men. It will help to ease the pain of being shot off their mounts."

"Aye," the men all agreed. Several of the men creased their eyes and looked down their sights.

To the southeast of their position, the two platoons of 'A' Company and a troop of 15th Hussars were still waiting at the cross roads of Bergues. It was approximately 11 a.m. when the enemy force they had been waiting for arrived in the form of no less than twelve battalions. Though their boots were heard before they were seen, the Irish remained steadfast. When the 2nd Guards Reserve Division finally came into view, they immediately advanced on the Munsters.

As the men of 'A' Company fired rapidly, the accuracy of their aim only stalled the enemy's persistent advance. Shoulder to shoulder they marched and then fell. The misery a bullet inflicts on human flesh continued as if unnoticed. Yet as each German soldier perished, he was replaced by another, and then another.

Following the rearguard strategy of engaging the enemy before falling back, each squad continued providing covering fire for the other, as the small detachment of Munsters finally took up positions within the village.

Though the town of Bergues soon became a rallying point, one which 'A' Company was loathe to give up, it was quickly becoming obvious a difficult decision had to be made. The dilemma: hold their position and risk the immediate threat of being overrun, or retreat and reorganize with the main part of the battalion to fight again. After inflicting heavy losses on the enemy, the men of 'A' Company wisely did the latter and followed orders to retire further in a southward direction.

At the same time, Daniel and Sullivan's 'D' Company had come under the same fierce and overwhelming attack. Having used their time wisely to prepare, both 'B' and 'D' Companies effectively defended the first onslaught from their well-entrenched positions. Again, the enemy fell at an alarming rate. In fact, so successful were the Munsters at holding off the enemy advance, after only half an hour, the Germans decided to retire and wait for additional columns to move forward.

~

Battle of Etreux.

Map courtesy of Schull Books, Ireland.

~

While walking briskly behind their shallow trenches, Captain Jervis rallied his troops. "Good work, men!" he shouted. "It's by no means over, lads. So let's be ready when they come round again."

Again, training in marksmanship paid off for the B.E.F. "The Mad Minute," as it was referred to in pre-war training, saw most British riflemen, in the span of sixty seconds, put thirty or more rounds through a twelve inch target at a range of three hundred yards. Like at Mons, it was not uncommon for the enemy to mistake this rapid volley for machine-gun fire.

Utilising the lull to reload for the next attack, the same break in the action was not lost on the company cooks when they seized the opportunity to provide the men with one last feed. But by the time dinners began to be delivered, the German attack had unfortunately resumed. Continuing, as if undaunted by the untimely onslaught, the enemy volley became an annoying challenge through which the cooks continued their duty. With backs hunched over, and the weight of several meals being delivered at once, the waiting men couldn't be faulted for finding humour in the sight of their culinary counterparts dashing and dodging from trench to trench.

As one cook became confused about who he should serve next, he abruptly stopped in his tracks. While bending his head to the sound of whistling bullets, one Private's holler could be heard across several dugouts.

"Come on, Micky, don't be stopping in the middle of the road," he shouted, almost laughing. "We still need a bite over here."

Not surprisingly, the private's unappreciated comment was returned by the harshest of scowls.

"And don't be leaving mine in the street for the dogs," another yelled.

Though the men of 'D' Company genuinely appreciated the cook's courage, and humour remained the most loyal of Irish allies, the cooks were warmly welcomed in every dugout, even though they arrived wearing more rations than they delivered.

It was noon now, and as the men swallowed what was left of their tea, the dark skies, which had been forming all morning, let loose with the loud crack of lightning. As Daniel looked to the skies, a heavy thunderstorm broke above them. Rain teamed down for more than a half hour. While the downpour forced a temporary lull in the organized attack on 'B' and 'D' companies, the enemy was, in turn, found to be concentrating to the northeast of Fesmy.

Having achieved the required numbers, the German 2nd Guards Division began their push to the southwest. There, 'C' Company, on the perimeter of Fesmy, met with the same circumstances their brothers of 'A' Company had just experienced. As the enemy forced the Munsters to withdraw, overwhelming numbers allowed the Germans to push into and occupy the village.

As Fesmy was a crucial juncture by which the enemy could cut off the successful retirement of 'B' and 'D' Companies, Captain Rawlinson ordered an immediate counter attack to retake the village. Two Platoons of 'C' Company quickly rallied, championing their cause. Reluctantly, the German infantry gave back the ground they just gained and were bravely and efficiently driven out of the village.

As the battle for Fesmy raged, so did the weight of the enemy descend upon another position, those held by both 'B' and 'D' Companies. Again, as the Germans advanced through the pouring rain, the Munsters held their fire until they could see the faces of their enemy.

"Hold your fire, men," Captain Jervis ordered. His calm voice and demeanour seemed to defy the gravity of the imminent carnage.

"Steady, men," he repeated several times, before his blasting shout could be heard. "FIRE!" Captain Jervis bellowed.

With that command, the men of 'D' Company opened up on the advancing enemy. As they fell again, Daniel, Sully, and the other men in their trench fired and reloaded in rapid succession. Taking advantage of the confusion created by the effectiveness of their firepower and what distraction the skies offered in the form of pouring rain, 'B' and 'D' Companies carried out their prearranged orders to withdraw toward Battalion Headquarters near Fesmy.

"Let's go, Danny!" Sully yelled, crouching in the rain soaked trench.

"Right behind ya', mate," Daniel replied.

"Let's go... let's go!" Sergeant Foley barked.

With the German advance on Chapeau-Rouge checked so thoroughly, German infantry battalions advanced again, but this time with much more concern for what awaited them. In fact, by the time it was learned that the Munsters' positions had been vacated, 'B' and 'D' Companies had put a distance of no less than a mile between themselves and the slowly advancing Germans.

Daniel and Sully and the rest of the retiring Munsters now formed up north of Fesmy, where Major Charrier set up temporary Head Quarters in a small café just outside of the village. From there the Major orchestrated the affairs of the battalion in a manner consistent with an officer uniquely qualified to adapt his training to the conditions in the field. As the battle continued to close in, it was determined by the Major to continue with the orderly withdrawal of the regiment.

After giving orders to that effect, Major Charrier and his staff exited the small building to find German wounded being cared for in the same manner as was his own. Stretchers lay about with groans of pain being the language common to both friend and foe.

Yet, even though mayhem underscored the execution of duty, the battle would not be denied its absurdities. During a paradoxical moment, a company cook chased a large pig right past the feet of his Commanding Officer.

"Sir!" the cook said, continuing in his crouched over running position.

How the cook managed a salute during such a rapid pursuit caused the Major to wonder why the fellow was designated to the kitchen rather than the front lines.

"What's that man's name, Captain?" the Major said to his adjutant, after the cook passed them both.

"Ah, I believe that's Private Shouldice," Captain Wise replied. Both the Major and the Captain watched in bemused disbelief as the cook followed the pig at every twist and turn.

"How shall I say this, Captain? As the need for rations diminishes," the Major began. "I want Private Shouldice to be the first Cook to exchange his butcher's knife for a rifle."

"Yes, Sir," the Captain replied. Even though the situation couldn't be interpreted as anything less than humorous, they both lacked expression as they looked on.

Continuing their march south of Fesmy the country seemed to open up, allowing for freer movement. It was 5:30 p.m. and the Munsters found themselves regrouping at a crossroads just east of the village of Oisy. It was determined that 'B' Company, while providing the right guard, had drifted out of contact.

As it turns out, 'B' Company under Captain Simms took their responsibility more seriously than any reasonable expectation. Choosing to slow the enemy advance with close range hit and run tactics, a significant distance had opened itself up between themselves and the rest of the battalion.

Realizing the peril 'B' Company may be facing, attempts were made by runners to regain contact with the missing Munsters. During this interval one of Major Charrier's finest qualities became clear. His loyalty to the Regiment was made obvious through his concern for every single man under his command. This fact, perceivable throughout the ranks, soon became a rallying point for all.

As the men rested and awaited further orders to march south, concern grew for the absent company as every minute passed. A quarter hour turned into a half and in turn into three-quarters without any reply as to the whereabouts of the missing men.

While some men smoked to calm their desire to keep moving, others were reassured their brethren would soon return.

"What's taking them?" A young Private Collins anguished.

"Steady, lads," Sergeant Foley said calmly. "We wouldn't want to be left behind either."

As the minutes passed, two dangers converged on the Battalion. One, a perilous gap was growing between the Munsters and the retreating French Army to the east. And two, Major Charrier felt the distance between him and the Germans narrow. Both exerted their unnerving influence over all.

"Sir, I must implore you," Charrier's adjutant stated, coming to the Major's side. "May I issue the order?"

The men of the Munsters waited at a crossroads in Oisy, taking advantage of a much-needed rest.

"You may," Major Charrier answered. Captain Wise had barely turned to issue the order when the Major qualified his last statement.

"At the top of the hour, Captain Wise, if you don't mind."

Captain Wise, being the best of adjutants to be found in any army, was tempted to let loose an expression of frustration. But being the professional soldier that he was, he checked his personal thoughts, at least until his and the Major's patience was rewarded. The Munsters' runners returned. Though nearly exhausted, they exuded a welcomed look of satisfaction while marching double-quick in front of the returning 'B' Company.

With the relief of his men returning safely barely penetrating his expression, Major Charrier updated his orders. A, B, and D companies would march through Oisy, leaving 'C' Company behind to cover the battalion's rearguard.

As the Munsters' column emerged on the south side of Oisy, a foreboding sign in the form of German Cavalry served as a fateful indication of how the remaining hours of the day would pass. The accuracy of rifle fire demonstrated by the first Platoon of 'A' Company quickly cleared the road ahead. Still, Major Charrier couldn't help feeling the situation was deteriorating faster than he had anticipated.

The enemy, who had until this point been behind them (to the north) and on their right (to the east), now appeared in front of them (to the south). After an exhaustive battle holding an enemy of far superior numbers at bay, to Major Charrier, this could only be interpreted as the day's most worrisome development. Cavalry could mean only one thing. They were the advance guard of a much larger force, one that was ready to outflank them from the east.

If for Major Charrier this represented a force they would have to fight their way through, to the runner carrying fresh orders from Brigadier Ivor General Maxse they were an obstacle he couldn't penetrate on his own. The Munster's order to break off contact with the enemy, in order that they reconnect with the Brigade's main force, would ultimately not get through.

The German 2nd Guards Infantry Division was still pressing hard and persistently testing 'C' Company. They were, as the Company's rearguard, now moving through the village of Oisy. With the 2nd Guard's attacks against the Munsters already twice thwarted, the advancing Germans were all the more determined to see the valour of their fallen kameraden revenged.

Seeing the Munsters on the west side of the only bridge that would carry their pursuit, the 2nd Guards pushed a hasty advance through that singular route. Under the calm direction of Captain Rawlinson, his men took full advantage of the enemy's necessity to traverse the narrow passage and readied themselves to check the German advance one more time.

"Steady, men," Captain Rawlinson shouted loudly. "Let's show'em this side still belongs to us!"

From positions of cover south of the bridge, Captain Rawlinson made his men wait until the enemy came within close range. After pushing their patience to the limit, he finally gave the order. "FIRE!" the Captain yelled.

The first of several volleys were quick to bloody the advancing field grey uniforms. As each succession of German Infantry attack fell on top of the previous, the bloodied - both dead and wounded - became an obstacle second only to the furious fire from the Munsters.

Then, as if to add to the chaotic nature of the unfolding battle, the spectacle of two nearby houses exploding into flames was a sure sign enemy artillery had found their range. Again, it was time to move on. As their accuracy had taken a toll adequate to stall the enemy advance, and the men's supply of ammunition was left wanting for re-supply, Captain Rawlinson ordered his men to fall back through the village and re-establish contact with the main part of the Battalion.

As the evening progressed, the German 1st Army under General Kluck continued its steady advance southward. The 2nd Guards Division, who had been all day waging a frustrating battle with the 2nd Battalion of the Royal Munster Fusiliers, were about to receive the assistance they required to turn the tide in their favour. The 19th Reserve Infantry Division, being the second half of General Kluck's 10th Reserve Army Corp (the 2nd Guards being the first) had been advancing southward and to the east of the 2nd Guards Division, on a parallel course.

Major Charrier couldn't have known at the time, but the Cavalry he had spotted earlier south of his position, on the road from Oisy to Etreux, were in fact scouts from the 19th Reserve Infantry Division. After returning with reconnaissance illustrating the opportunity to deliver the fatal blow, one the 2nd Guards were unable to administer on their own, General Von Barfeldt turned his division to the west to aid in the defeat of what he presumed was a significant and sizable British force.

With the German 6th Reserve Dragoons Battalion in front, the 19th Infantry Division moved west on a course to intercept the British Army, somewhere near the village of Etreux. German patrols, which were advancing cautiously in a westerly direction through Etreux, found the British enemy they were looking for in the 2nd Battalion of the Royal Munster Fusiliers. The Munsters were still on their course southward and were now somewhere between the villages of Oisy and Etreux.

At this time, Major Charrier issued orders that could only be considered consistent with an officer who could instinctively think on his feet. Perceiving the threat of an imminent attack on their position from the east, he quickly ordered his men to traverse the ditches on both sides of the Oisy-Etreux Road. Yet as the Munsters crouched and slowly moved forward, a group of German soldiers dashed across the road ahead of them. Success, for the moment, belonged to the enemy, as one group of German Infantry was followed by another, then yet another.

Seeing the German Infantry gaining an advantage in front of him, Captain Chute instinctively understood that initiative was the seed of valour. He wasted no time in helping his machine gun platoon establish themselves in the middle of the road. While lying on their chests, the Munsters' machine gunners let loose a stream of lead that was tested only by those with an overabundance of foolhardiness. As Captain Chute's men pruned the German ranks of youthful inexperience, Major Bayly in turn attempted to wheel his artillery into position. Daniel and Sully's 'D' Company took full advantage of the covering fire and advanced toward the village of Etreux. As the German Dragoons fell back, the attempt to cross the road and outflank the Munsters from the west was an order the enemy would not fulfill anytime soon.

Being the type of officer who was unaccustomed to commanding safely from the rear, Major Charrier tested the genuine concern of his adjutant by advancing shoulder to shoulder with his men. Orders were updated and confidently barked out only after stopping periodically to accurately reassess the movements of the enemy. This time, as he looked forward, he could see the enemy gaining a foothold in a small house on the outskirts of the village.

"Come on, Bayly!" he shouted, pointing in a forward direction. "Put one into that house, will you?"

Major Bayly quickly relayed the order to the gun with the better sight line, on the other side of the road. Yet, as the men prepared to fire, a rapid succession of German artillery rained down. Every Munster within fifty yards ducked, as a tremendous explosion momentarily stopped their advance.

The ammunition limber had been hit. Parts of metal, wood and exploding shells flew in every direction. Being the closest to the blast, the men of 'D' Company were the hardest hit. Most were knocked flat to the ground by the explosion. Daniel struggled to get up, but fell back down. His right hand responded to a searing pain on the same side of his head.

Sully got to his feet. He steadied himself before helping Daniel back up. With a dazed expression, he looked at him. Daniel was trying to say something, but he couldn't make out the words. He was pointing to the side of his head. When things finally began to make sense, Sully looked more closely at his friend's bloodied head.

Sully squinted several times. "It's just a flesh wound!" Sully stuttered. Then he noticed his ears were ringing.

"What?" Daniel yelled.

Sully looked again. "You'll be alright!"

Captain Jervis assessed the fate of his men. After urging the able-bodied to shoulder the wounded, he ordered his company to move on.

Major Bayly straightened his posture and grimaced at the sight of what was left of his men. The memory of his other gun team would have to be honoured at a later date, as Major Charrier continued to encourage his battalion forward.

Now suffering from the outnumbering pursuit of the 2nd Guards German Infantry, the ranks of 'C' Company were thinning with each of their hit-and-run rearguard tactics. Though the casualty list now included Captain Rawlinson and his second in command, Lieutenant Drake, they rallied their men as they caught up with the rest of the battalion. Now with 'D' Company being held in reserve for a final push, Major Charrier ordered Captain Rawlinson and his men forward to bolster 'B' Company, who were struggling to gain ground in front. Attempt after heroic attempt was made to fight their way through the 19th Reserve Division. Yet as the German Infantry flooded into Etreux from the east, 'B' and 'C' Company casualties grew until there were barely enough men left to fill the ranks of one company between them.

As dusk began to fall, Major Bayly ordered his men to move forward. Again they responded without concern for being the last artillery team to draw enemy fire. Similarly, despite the hail of a heavy exchange, another platoon of 'B' Company rallied forward, but within moments, valour was their only comfort as they lay wounded and dying in the middle of the road.

The situation was perilous, but the efforts of the Irish were undaunted. And even though events were unfolding faster than one could tally the toll, heroism was a banner any observer would raise on the Munsters' behalf. As the men of the 118th Royal Field Artillery succumbed one by one to rifle fire, the Major and his last gunner struggled to keep the cannon firing. Valiant as their efforts were, as Major Bayly struggled to help carry the last shell to his gun, enemy fire ensured its last round had already been fired.

For the Munsters, the prospect of escape had all but vanished. But, as Major Charrier was not a man to let hope yield to despair, he again led his men by example.

"Come on, men!" he yelled, dashing up onto the road. The first house on the outskirts of the village lay only a hundred yards ahead.

The thunder of battle raged all around him. Explosions, rifle and machine gun fire were now underscored by the misery of the wounded and dying. The very air vibrated with every imaginable noise, yet as thunderous as it was, only one thing resonated with the men under his command; the sound of their Major's voice.

Now wounded himself, Major Charrier looked back to a small group of men and waved them forward. One by one they responded to the bravery of their commanding officer, but before the Major could give the order to charge, German machine gunfire inflicted a heavy toll, reducing the ranks attempting to join him.

Anticipating the Major's imminent order to advance, Lieutenant Chute ordered his machine guns to provide bursting covering fire. As the Munsters' lead flowed south, the Germans' was, in turn, driven relentlessly north.

With a dozen or so men crouching beside him, Major Charrier shouted his orders and pointed to the objective in the distance. But before his whistle could turn the breath of courage into the shrill of the charge, the Major suffered his second wound. This time, as the bullet ripped through his tunic, his posture recoiled from the impact, causing him to fall to one knee.

Captain Jervis, still with 'D' Company in reserve, looked forward with the eagerness to reinforce his Commanding Officer's position. With his eyes pleading for the order to come to their aid, Captain Jervis felt the resolve to take matters into his own hands surge within him.

Yet as only seconds passed with each life and death event, Major Charrier turned and saw the Captain behind him. In the instant it took to place his whistle between his lips, Major Charrier's eyes spoke for him. As if with only a nod and a visual cue, Captain Jervis could feel Major Charrier pass the torch of the Battalions flickering hope to him. The gesture would not be in vain, as the Captain's determination alone was ready to carry his 'D' Company southward. Then as the Major turned and blew his whistle, a machine gun burst saw that it would be his last order.

In the end Major Paul Charrier fell in a way consistent with only the best of Commanding Officers, with his cherished men beside him. And as his soul joined those who had fallen with him, he somehow felt the presence of his predecessors. Spirits of men whose valorous deeds had defined the Regiment's past glory. Both officers and enlisted men appeared like ghosts from the trees lining the road.

All of them donned uniforms, which through the centuries, had come and gone. Today, Clive, Cootes and Roberts were not mere portraits hanging in the Chief's Regimental Office, but figures of their former selves, wanting to embrace those willing to join the ranks of the immortal. The commonality they so richly shared was a virtuous weave. Sewn so richly through the banner of time, the character that defined this gathering, this Royal Munster Fusilier fraternity, was honour. For today no soldier would truly die if the memory of his deeds lived on.

Captain Jervis paused for a moment. Though the battle raged around him, he couldn't help indulging a sense of grief for the loss of his Commanding Officer. And though his training instructed him to push those feeling aside, he felt the Major's spirit and those around him shouting words of encouragement, urging him to press on. And that he did. With virtually no avenue of escape making itself obvious, Captain Jervis instructed his men to follow him into the fields, east of their present position.

Daniel and Sully looked at each other. They both felt the time for words had come and gone, and that action, moreover luck, seemed the singular thread tethering the fragility of life to the finality of death. The sounds of battle continued unabated with pockets of what remained of the Munsters doing their best to inch their way south. For some their only option was to dig in, hold on to their position, and just survive.

In an effort to break through the enemy ahead, Captain Jervis cautiously led his men from one position of cover to the next. Strangely enough, success now seemed to precede the Munsters at every turn. Was Providence now on their side, or was it simply the fact that dusk was giving way to darkness? Regardless, 'D' Company took full advantage of every opportunity.

After passing the most southern point their fellow Munsters had achieved, Daniel and Sully dared to consider they had found the elusive opening in the German line. The men ran quickly in loose formation through an orchard. With only visual cues, the sounds of pounding boots accompanied the clicking of tightly held rifles. After another field, a thick hedge appeared. Realizing the hedge ran parallel to that of a railway, they soon discovered they had finally arrived at the outskirts of the village. Etreux was directly south of them, but so was the enemy.

Wasting little time, what was left of Daniel and Sully's platoon instigated a rapid exchange of rifle fire, hoping to soften up the enemy's position. With the goal of breaking through there, Captain Jervis quickly ordered Lieutenant Phayre to take two platoons and charge forward. As the ranks of Daniel and Sully's platoon had already been thinned, encouragement was all they could offer as their brothers fixed their bayonets.

Following the Lieutenant's whistle, they surged forward. The Irish again carried the charge, cheering with the enthusiasm of their ancestors. And again, the Munsters' efforts were thwarted by superior numbers. Lieutenant Phayre, being the first to advance, was one of the first to fall.

Within moments, Captain Hall arrived with what was left of 'A' Company. Being the senior officer, he took command. With the situation almost entirely hopeless, the Captain made one more attempt to break through the enemy. Another charge was ordered and another charge was repelled by a force that was now outnumbering the Munsters by a margin of fifty-to-one. By now nine officers of the Munsters had been killed, with Captain Hall severely wounded.

It was becoming painfully obvious that while the choices left to vanquished are few, the dead are bestowed none. Though the Munsters loathed the prospect of giving up, they were unwilling to dishonour the courage of their fallen by senselessly wasting further lives.

As they fell back toward the orchard they could hear the rattle of their machine guns silenced. Lieutenant Chute, having demonstrated his guns effectiveness beyond all expectation, was in the end killed while defending his fellow Munsters' position.

By now, ammunition was dangerously low. The remaining men were reluctant to fire on the enemy, unless it was the only answer to an immediate life or death decision. Now exhausted, their thoughts were soon filled with the guilt only a survivor understands. By what chance of fate is one man killed while his mate beside him survives? For Daniel, it would be a question never answered.

As darkness fell, so did the realization of hopelessness descend on all combatants. Though the Germans pressed inward under the cover of darkness, they in turn held their fire as if in respect of the unknown valiant who remained. The Munsters' shattered command agreed; to fight any further would only succeed in devaluing the lives of those who survived. The only thing left was to agree on to what they would abide. If this was defeat, then who was the victor? Though the cup of bitterness was half-empty, it was more than half-full with the courage and valour demonstrated by the Munsters today.

Now the decisions of the next few moments would determine how the coming hours and days would pass. Acts of retribution would only serve to make matters worse, both for the wounded, as well as those too exhausted to fight any further. The next chapters in these men's lives did not have to be dictated to them by their enemy, instead they could be written by their hand. Surely, as in life, the survivors agreed, integrity was the straightest and most honourable path forward.

At 9:15 p.m. the fate of what remained of the 2nd Battalion of the Royal Munster Fusiliers was now in German hands. After more than twelve hours of battle, only 240 men remained. Many of those were wounded. Nine officers had been killed, while only four remained uninjured. With officers in front and able men supporting their wounded brothers behind, the Irish stood rifles by their sides, proudly holding their final position.

Unknown to them the same spirits, which had joined Major Charrier earlier, appeared again. While walking among them, they congratulated the men's efforts. Though the perspective of ages would have been welcomed, it was not needed in recognising what was accomplished today. It would be a battle the Regiment would never forget.

The next day, the 28th, the Germans allowed members of the Munster prisoners of war to bury their dead. Fitting it was that they did so near the position where they made their final stand. The names of 7 men of the 118th Field Artillery as well as 1 man of the 15th (The King's) Hussars accompanied the names of 110 Munster Fusiliers. The youngest Munster being Private Edward Keohane, age 17, and the oldest being Major Paul Charrier, age 45. All would agree the new cemetery at Etreux was worthy of becoming a Regimental Memorial, and so it would be.

That same day, as the Germans assembled their wounded in the village of Etreux, their commanders couldn't help acknowledging the Munsters' courage and effectiveness in battle. Yet as the German General became aware that the famous German hammer, his whole Army Corps, had descended upon a mere battalion, or more accurately three and a half companies, he was enraged.

He would soon find no less than 1500 German Infantry lay wounded in the village of Etreux, with untold numbers in Oisy, Fesmy and Chapeau-Rouge. Answers were elusive when he violently questioned his subordinates. "How could such a small and insignificant force," he shouted, "consume the attention of a whole Army Corps?"

To the Munsters' credit they had executed the finest example of how to conduct a rearguard action. By the end of the 27th of August, the 2nd Battalion of the Royal Munster Fusiliers had held up the 10th Reserve Army Corps for more than twelve hours. At the end of their valiant battle, a distance of no less than twelve miles now separated the pursuing Germans from General Haig's 1st Army Corps.

For General Haig, it was the valuable breathing space he very much needed. For the Royal Munster Fusiliers, nothing, not even the pride that accompanies exemplary soldiering, could eclipse the realization that it had been purchased at a very high price.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

### The aftermath

Servant of God, well done! Well hast

thou fought the better fight.

John Milton

"Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven," Daniel said, speaking softly to the badly wounded Munster. "Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted."

Daniel knelt down on one knee at Private Collin's side. While resting his small Bible on the other, he bent over and spoke quietly. The air was cool, and would otherwise be considered pleasant, if it weren't filled with the aftermath of a hard-fought battle.

It was the evening of the 28th. All day able-bodied men, now prisoners of war, had been carrying out the difficult task of burying their fallen brothers. During a ceremony repeated far too often, the debt of those interred was transferred from the dead to the living, from one generation to the next. And although the bitterness of defeat still simmered in some, compassion for those in need was found in all.

"Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth." Daniel looked up from his Bible and noticed the Private's eyes glaze over. He paused for a moment and tilted his bandaged head forward. "Collins, are you with me?" He couldn't help focusing on the Private's wounds.

His neck and right leg were bandaged and equally blood-soaked. Determining which was causing him the most pain would, for the time being, remain a mystery. Having taken a flesh wound in the throat, Private Collins was left unable to speak.

Daniel put his hand on the Private's chest. He could feel the subtleness of life; the lungs of this twenty year old would not give up so easily. The Private slowly came around and his eyes opened. He looked around before focusing on Daniel. Each was comforted by a modest smile.

Daniel took a breath before reading on. "Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God," he continued.

Daniel glanced between his Bible and Collins. The young man's eyes were filling with emotion. Tears seemed ready to streak his dirty face.

"Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God."

Daniel cleared his throat of emotion, while quoting the words of Jesus. Though he read quietly, other wounded soldiers lying beside him listened intently.

During a short pause, another wounded Munster piped up. "The Beatitudes was a fine choice, Danny," Private Fischer said. His eyes focused in on Daniel's Bible. "You know, I never thought to pack one. I wish I did!"

"It was a gift from my wife," Daniel said. He groaned and straightened out his legs, sitting down beside Collins.

"How did you get it past them?" Fischer asked, referring to their captors.

Daniel smiled. "It would seem God doesn't choose sides."

Yesterday, as the men were processed by the Germans, Daniel and his fellow Munsters were stripped of all their possessions. Two German soldiers, one sitting at a table and another standing behind, saw to it that every Munster was left with nothing but the clothes on their back.

When Daniel finally came to the front of the line, he took off his pack and reluctantly handed it over. He watched as it was thrown onto a smouldering fire, fuelled by the possessions of the men handled before him. Though his stomach was sickened by the sight, there was one reminder of home he didn't want to see being reduced to ashes.

"Was ist das?" "What is that?" The German barked at Daniel. While sitting behind a table, he pointed and waved his pencil as if Daniel should hand something over.

"This?" Daniel stated, holding up what he had in his right hand.

"Ubergeben Sie es!" "Hand it over!" The German Corporal ordered.

"It's not for me!" Daniel stated.

"Es ist mir egal, ubergeben Sie es!" "I don't care. Hand it over!" he ordered.

"You don't understand," Daniel began, before the German soldier interrupted him.

"Private!" the German shouted.

The closest German soldier stepped forward.

"Lass es dir von ihm." "Take it from him," the Corporal crossly ordered.

"It's a Bible... for the wounded," Daniel blurted. But the Private lurched forward, grabbing it from him mid-sentence.

"Warten!" "Wait!" a German Officer standing behind shouted. The Captain's voice stopped everyone in their tracks.

"Lassen Sie mich sehen." "Let me see it," he stated, in a calm voice. He held out his hand.

After the Private handed it over, the German Captain opened the book. He began to slowly scroll through the pages.

"Have you a favourite passage, Private?" the Officer asked. His English was thickly accented. He glanced up and then back to the Bible before continuing to turn one page after another.

Daniel cleared his throat before responding. "Yes, Sir."

"What is it?" he asked. The German Officer's demeanour seemed ambiguous, strangely curious, yet disinterested at the same time.

Daniel felt the glare of those nearest him. "Blessed are the merciful," he said.

The German officer closed the Bible, before looking up. "For they shall obtain mercy," he stated, confidently.

Daniel was both surprised and relieved by the Officer's ability to complete the verse.

"You look surprised, Private," the officer stated. "Did you think God was only on your side?"

Again, Daniel searched for something appropriate to say. "I don't believe God chooses sides."

The German indulged a modest smile. "Then He favours both of us... equally?"

Daniel paused for only a moment before nodding his head slightly. "I believe He does."

The officer took several slow steps, bringing him in front of Daniel. He held out his hand. "You may keep it, Private," he said, handing the Bible back to Daniel.

"Aber, Sir!" "But, Sir!" the seated German objected.

The Captain turned his head to the side, as if to glance over his shoulder. "We mustn't abandon every aspect of compassion, Corporal. Enemy wounded deserve to be treated with the same respect as our own. As do prisoners of war," he added, looking back at Daniel. "You may go, Private."

"Nachste!" "Next!" the Corporal yelled.

Daniel nodded before moving on.

Resuming a kneeling position beside Collins, Daniel sat back onto his boots.

"Blessed are they," he said, stopping. The poor lad clenched his teeth and groaned. The pain seemed almost too much to bear.

Daniel put his right hand on the man's shoulder and tried to encourage him. "You're going to be alright, Collins," he offered. "You're going to be alright!"

After a moment, the young private settled down.

"I know his family," the soldier lying beside him suggested. "They would appreciate what you're doing," he added. He glanced between his distressed friend and Daniel. "They don't miss a Sunday's mass, if you know what I mean."

After Private Collins managed to compose himself, it seemed all he could manage was to give Daniel a slight nod to continue.

And so he did. "Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven."

The next day, the remnants of the 2nd Battalion of the Royal Munster Fusiliers, who escaped the Germans at Etreux, finally caught up with General Haig's retreating 1st Army Corp. Only 5 officers and 196 all other ranks stood wearily, as the roll call was answered that morning.

The Allies had now been retreating for almost a week. And with the hope of finding the right set of circumstances in which to turn and mount a counter attack against the Germans, fatigue had become an overriding concern for both the pursuer as well as the pursued.

Exhaustion was evident in every soldier of every rank in every army. For the Germans, it was a hindrance to achieving a swift victory. To the French, it was an annoyance only felt within the context of losing their nation. To the soldiers of the British Expeditionary Force, it was frustrating the men's eagerness to turn and fight, while with their command it was an affliction compounding their state of despair.

Since arriving in France, communication between Sir John French and General Joffre of the French High Command could only be described as strained. Even during face-to-face meetings, where General Wilson acted as translator, consensus for cooperative action seemed elusive. Though each ally lacked faith in the other, General Joffre was wise enough to understand in the end numbers mattered. As a result, he held out hope the B.E.F. would be there when he needed them.

But hope and optimism were now in short supply. Victory was no longer part of the Allies vocabulary. For the B.E.F's Commander-in-Chief, survival and self-preservation were the primary motivation for further action. So much so that General French even considered leaving the continent - as the war, he thought, was already lost.

As Daniel and his fellow P.o.W.s still languished in the village of Etreux, they each relived in their minds the battle they had waged only a week before. During one evening, Daniel looked over the crosses now gracing the peaceful orchard. He stopped under a tree and considered how lucky he was to be alive. Not surprisingly, he thought of home. I hope some 27th of August in the future, I can bring Steven and David here, he said to himself. I would like them to see what my fellow Munsters sacrificed for them.

The month of August, which began with little concern for war, ended for these Irishmen as a struggle to survive day-by-day. After the last Munster was buried in the Etreux Cemetery, the remaining men were moved to an old mill near a canal that flowed through the village. As they endured endless hours with little to do, their only sustenance was a soup made of cabbage and water. Served in a large basin only once a day, it fed only the seed of starvation. And thus the days would pass as if the basics to sustain life had become their new adversary.

~ ~ ~

From her own perspective, Mary would attest things were not all that dissimilar in London. Yes, she had a roof over her head, but she would rather be at her husband's side - even if it meant sleeping in an open field. Though she was not left wanting for a modest meal, she would gladly share Daniel's watery soup - if she could sit on the grass beside him. And although Daniel could rest assured knowing his family was managing, and could even survive without him, Mary's nights were restless, her food almost without taste. She was exhausted from living on pins and needles, left wondering if her Daniel would ever come home.

She and the boys had just finished Sunday dinner at her parents' house. Steven and David were their usual boisterous selves, while Mary readied herself to sit down with a cup of tea.

"Where's the other paper, Father?" she asked.

After putting down her cup on the dining room table, she began looking intently for her father's copy of the Sunday Times.

"Oh, I imagine it's around here somewhere," Patrick stated. He flipped through his copy of the Evening News. Mary checked the usual spots before turning to stare at her father.

Patrick lowered his paper into his lap. "Why don't you come and sit down?" he suggested. "We could just talk for a while."

Ellen sat at the piano in the corner of the room. She had become quite an accomplished player having inherited both the instrument and her talent from her mother. Though she played softly, quietly, the notes seemed dissonant, as she listened to her daughter's voice. She hoped Mary would lose interest and find something else to read.

"Talk for a while?" Mary inquired. "Why?" Her expression turned inquisitive. "Is there something you don't want me to read?"

"You know how it is, Mary. Never a positive word about anything," Patrick explained. "Wouldn't you agree, Mother?"

Ellen stopped musing on the piano and got up. She opened the bench beneath her and pulled out the paper Mary was looking for.

"What is it you don't want me to see?" Mary asked.

Patrick looked at Ellen. "Do you think that's wise, considering her state?"

"It's better that she see it here where we can talk about it with her," Ellen said. She brought the newspaper and sat down at the dining room table.

"Talk about what?" Mary asked, before joining her mother.

Ellen unfolded the paper and slid it over to Mary. Patrick and Ellen looked on as Mary's eyes widened.

It was a special edition of the Sunday Times today. The front page, usually reserved for advertising, was ablaze with headlines like: 'Worst Fight in History,' 'Substantial Losses of Troops,' 'Fighting severe odds,' and 'Requirement for Reinforcements.'

As Mary's head descended into her hands, so sank the spirit of her father and mother. They would do anything to ease the suffering of their daughter. But theirs would be a torment of silence. For the better part of an hour, Mary silently consumed every article as if the ability to read had just been bestowed upon her.

Words testifying to "terrible losses" with regiments "mortally injured" pierced her heart, as Ellen brought silent support with warm tea. "Is there anything more I can do for you?" Ellen said, placing a cup beside the paper.

Mary couldn't stop reading. "No, thank you, Mother," was all she could say.

"You know, Mary," her father said, trying to temper her perspective. "It's written to illicit a response that gives no consideration to..."

"To the wife of a soldier?" Mary interjected, looking up from the paper. Ellen and Patrick stared at their daughter. They could feel the emotions swirling behind Mary's eyes.

Patrick paused and struggled to find the right words. "To the family of a soldier... is what I meant to say."

Patrick got up slowly from his chair. It was as if his bones were creaking, not only with the burden of his daughter's sorrow, but his own as well. With a solemn expression, he slowly walked toward the kitchen.

"He's taken the news quite hard, Mary," Ellen suggested, quietly. "I think he loves Daniel like a father would a son."

Mary glanced over at her father, as he disappeared into the kitchen. "I promise I'll talk to him before I leave."

"You know, Mary, I've been thinking all day of what to say to you."

"About Daniel?" Mary asked, with a soft voice.

"Yes. You mustn't let feelings of despair get the better of you," Ellen began sincerely. Your father and I..." Ellen started, before being interrupted.

"Thank you, Mother," she said, extending her right hand across the table. Ellen held Mary's hand. "Daniel's alive. I can feel it. Daniel will remain in my soul forever, but until I see his name..." she paused, looking as her emotions got the better of her.

Mary slowly slouched over the table and let her head slowly descend onto the sleeve of her right arm. Feeling the time for words had passed, Ellen watched as her daughter stared blankly off into the depths of what her imagination would allow.

~ ~ ~

The day before the battle in Etreux, General Smith-Dorrien successfully engaged his adversary, General Kluck, at Le Cateau. And like the Munsters, the 2nd Corps put some valuable distance between itself and the enemy. Though this action was also successful at throwing off the German pursuer, it would remain the most costly to date; 7812 British casualties were recorded.

At St. Quentin, the Fifth French Army had waged a pitched battle against von Bulow's 2nd German Army. Despite the fact that General Haig indicated to General Lanrezac that his 1st Corp was ready to assist, the British C.i.C. interceded, insisting his army was "very tired and must have at least one day's rest."

When Haig was countermanded by his Field Marshal, General Lanrezac was furious. "C'est une felonie!" he blasted. He then went into a tirade about the British Commander's failings.

The next morning General French sent word to General Joffre that the British Army would not be available to fight "for another ten days." And, with questionable regard for its retirement being carried out in concert with the French, he instructed his staff to prepare the B.E.F. for a prolonged retreat to the south.

Kitchener was stunned. Was his Commander-in-Chief preparing to disengage the British Army and pull it out from the Allied line? Realizing the implications of abandoning their international obligations, on Kitchener's request, Prime Minister Asquith summoned the Cabinet. With their approval, Kitchener then instructed General French that "you will as far as possible conform with the plans of General Joffre for the conduct of the campaign."

While Kitchener waited in London for his Commander-in-Chief's reply, the first signs were beginning to emerge indicating the German momentum was faltering.

Lanrezac's 5th Army had dealt such a blow to General Bulow during battle at Guise, near St. Quentin, the German 2nd Army halted and broke off their pursuit. Seizing upon this, General Joffre issued new orders for his armies to hold steadfast and to not yield any further ground to the enemy. Again the B.E.F.'s available troops and position in the line made its contribution to exploiting the opportunity for a counter-attack vital.

Yet as Lord Kitchener read the reply he anxiously waited for, General French's intentions to move his army out of harm's way became frustratingly clear. For Kitchener, only one course of action remained. He would leave for France immediately. Morning, he felt, couldn't wait when at 2 a.m., Winston Churchill, the First Lord of the Admiralty, arranged for the fastest naval transport available to speed the War Minister to France. By the next day Kitchener was meeting with his Commander in Chief.

In the full regalia of a Field Marshall's uniform, Kitchener met with General French and left him with instructions that afforded him only the narrowest of interpretations. Kitchener informed his government: "French's troops are now engaged in the fighting line, where they will remain conforming to the movements of the French Army." And so they did when rearguard actions at Villers Cotterettes and Crepy en Valois were carried out by the B.E.F. on the 1st of September.

In Etreux, German soldiers requiring attention far outnumbered the British. While badly wounded men, both British and German, were billeted in every available house, shop and barn, those that were able-bodied took advantage of their mobility and avoided the unpleasant and often grim conditions in the makeshift hospitals. As the August heat spilled into September, the weather remained more oppressive for some than others.

On the afternoon of September 1st, Daniel and Sully passed the hours doing what they could for their fellow Munsters. After meeting in an adjacent courtyard to discuss the best means to improvise a solution to the latest problem – how to construct more stretchers – Lieutenant Gower suddenly arrived with a determined expression. Accompanying him were a German Sergeant and four enlisted men.

Daniel and Sully saluted as the Lieutenant quickly came to the point.

"I'm sorry men, but I need four volunteers for a burial detail. I'll need you, Donoghue. And, Sullivan, see if you can't find Graham and Forsythe. You're going to be escorted by this Sergeant's men, some distance to the north. You will find Private Holland there."

Sully put his hand up to his forehead, squinting from the sunlight. "You want us to bring him back, Lieutenant?"

"No, Private, the Germans want him buried there, in the cemetery."

Daniel was taken aback. "Why, if you don't mind me asking, Sir?"

"Can't we bury him with the rest of the battalion?" Sullivan suggested.

"Sorry men, I did everything I could. My instructions are to arrange for Private Holland's burial in a nearby cemetery." Lieutenant Gower paused for a moment. "If it's any consolation, I did insist that we provide Holland with a brief ceremony. Can I count on you men for that?" Lieutenant Gower rested his glance on Daniel, knowing he was the only man with a Bible.

"Of course," Daniel answered.

"Alright then, I'm told you'll find everything you need there," the Lieutenant stated. "And Donoghue, will you let me know which passage you read? I'll mention it in my comments to the family."

Though, to a man, the Munster prisoners were by all accounts malnourished at this point, surviving on one meagre meal a day, Daniel and his three mates managed the two-kilometre march.

After arriving just south of Oisy, they were surprised to find several other Munster Soldiers. These men, they soon found out, had survived the battle, but were too badly wounded to be relocated to Etreux. After warmly reassuring them their fate would be one with the rest of the battalion, they carried Private Holland on a stretcher to the Etreux Communal Cemetery.

Under the watchful eye of three German soldiers, they each quietly took turns digging Private Holland's final resting place. Though one wouldn't expect an adversary to be concerned with the solemn process of burying a fallen enemy, the German's behaviour was at times boisterous and verging on disrespectful. With stern looks from the Munsters unacknowledged, Sully hammered in the cross, which was inscribed with Private William Holland's name and regimental number.

The reverent Munster contingent stood two to a side. Then, as if to ready himself to read a passage from his Bible, Daniel cleared his throat. Though he held the Bible open at the ready, the German soldiers carried on as if uninterested.

Daniel cleared his throat again before speaking up. "Would you mind if I read a passage from the Bible for the Private?"

The Germans' conversation immediately stopped. Their concentration turned to Daniel. With a fortified look of indifference, the one in charge took an extended draw on his smoke. After a lengthy pause, he nodded his head to proceed. Though the soldier leered at Daniel as he spoke, and returned what he obviously felt was a challenge, Private Graham was not intimidated. He let loose a steely stare. Tension grew as the German soldiers' conversation, though hushed and intermittent, seemed to be focused now on their Irish counterparts.

As Daniel finished the passage, he paused before quietly asking: "Does anyone have anything more to say?" He glanced briefly at each of his three mates.

"I do," one of the Germans spoke up.

Daniel looked over at him and, after a brief pause, motioned with his Bible for him to speak.

"What I want to know is did your man get his Irish wake?" he asked. His smile was impudent. "I thought your funerals were full of whiskey and song?" he stated, trying to provoke them further.

His broken English and thick German accent grated on Private Graham. "If there was a toast to be had, we wouldn't be sharin' it with the likes of you," he growled.

The German soldier threw his cigarette to the ground and feigned a lunge forward. Private Graham quickly did the same, but not before his adversary caught him glancing at one of the shovels. Two of the German's cocked their rifles, just as Daniel quickly put his hand on Graham's shoulder.

It was a tense standoff, and the Munsters were unarmed. Sully instantly surmised the German soldiers could leverage the smallest of provocations to justify their actions. He took a step back. Realizing what was needed to gain the advantage, he quickly piped up.

"Did you know, Danny, the Irish soul rises to Heaven that much faster if it's accompanied by song?"

With only scorched expressions to speak for their stalled aggression, the Germans said nothing. Daniel slowly turned his head to the side. "You don't say!" His hand remained glued to Graham's shoulder.

The German detail clutched their weapons, but they seemed at a loss for what to do next. Their momentum was lost. The advantage had indeed been turned in the Munsters' favour.

"What'll it be, then, Sully?" Forsythe asked. The Germans looked outdone, even disappointed.

"For Private William Holland then!" Sully announced, before starting to sing. Surprisingly, his disarming voice took the small group by surprise.

~

Amazing grace! How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me!

I once was lost, but now am found,

Was blind, but now I see.

~

As Daniel, Graham and Forsythe joined in, the Germans soldiers used the butts of their rifles to push the Munsters toward the road leading back to their camp. Indifferent to the German's forcefulness, in their minds, bagpipes chimed in for the second verse.

~

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

And grace my fears relieved;

How precious did that grace appear

The hour I first believed!

~

With two German soldiers in front and two behind the men marched as they sang.

~

Through many dangers, toils, and snares,

We have already come;

'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,

And grace will lead me home.

~

Though Daniel, Sully, Graham, and Forsythe finished the song on their way back to Etreux, it would not be the last time a burial detail would be sent to that same cemetery.

In the end, Private Holland would not lie alone. By September 10th four Munster soldiers would be interred there. Later, the men would find out five other Munsters were buried in Fesmy churchyards, two in Burges and two in Boue as well.

~ ~ ~

By September 2nd, the B.E.F. had reached the Marne River, and though they were still not beyond the threat of envelopment, by the 3rd of the same month, the French 5th Army did as well.

A new French army, the 6th, had been created from those holding the line in the Lorraine. They had taken up a position on the B.E.F.'s left. The retired French General Joseph Gallieni had been put in charge of fortifying Paris while Prime Minister Poincare moved the seat of his government to Bordeaux.

As General von Kluck's 1st Army still hounded the Allied retreat, German infantrymen were showing the unmistakable signs of exhaustion. While outstripping their supply lines, von Kluck avoided losing time by instructing his men to sleep along the roadside and, if necessary, in the ditches. By now Kluck was certain the British were a beaten army, while the French only needed to be rounded up before laying siege to Paris.

The Schlieffen Plan originally called for the German 1st Army under General von Kluck to circle west of Paris, while the 2nd Army under General von Bulow were under orders to attack and occupy the French capital. General von Hausen, with his 3rd Army, was to march east. But as the French 5th Army had retired further east than expected, von Kluck decided against making the preplanned sweep to the west in favour of helping von Bulow deliver the final blow to the remnants of the French Army.

To Kluck and Bulow, ignoring the French capital could be reconciled if the annihilation of the French Army was imminent. After all, German military strategy dictated laying siege to a city should not be undertaken until its army in the field was destroyed. As Von Kluck's army wheeled eastward, only thirty miles separated the German Army from the grand city of Paris.

As the 4th day of September progressed, General Joffre could not ignore the emerging facts. At daybreak, Paris aviators confirmed General Kluck's 1st Army had, from the Allied perspective, made a fateful right turn. They were now heading east, and north of the capital. As a result, Kluck had unduly exposed his right flank. With his army now vulnerable, the time for the Allies to turn and fight had finally come.

The general order to retreat was about to be changed and the battle for France would soon commence. Yet despite the fact that a bold new plan was taking shape, one that included the French 5th and 6th French, when General French returned to his headquarters, no formal order had yet been received from Joffre. As a result, he let General Murray's standing order to retire another 10 to 15 miles stand while he considered his options.

When news of French's need to study the plan made its way to French Headquarters, General Joffre couldn't believe it. "Were the British going to abandon us in our greatest hour of need?" he gasped. Believing he needed the British to take their place in the line at any cost, General Joffre wasted no time in making the 115 mile trip to British headquarters, now located in Melun.

At 2:00 p.m. he arrived at the chateau and found French with his staff, which included Generals Murray and Wilson. With little concern for the disposition befitting his rank, Joffre instantly went into a passionate and demonstrative plea for help from the British. The "supreme moment" was not only upon France, but her allies as well. "The lives of all French people, the soil of France, the future of Europe" were in their hands. If England does not take her proper place, Joffre pleaded, "history will severely judge your absence!"

Though General French listened intently, he did not speak. The moment seemed to exceed him. It was as if he was attempting to balance his own nation's interests with that of his ally's, the lives of England's soldiers with those of France. Lives, he knew, that would surely be lost and never be replaced.

Silence gripped the room. Emotions were at their peak. Then, unexpectedly, tears could be seen rolling down General French's cheeks. As he struggled to give an appropriate response in the language of his ally, he stopped and stated: "Damn it, I can't explain. Tell them we will do all that we possibly can."

Joffre stared intently, before Wilson spoke on his General's behalf, "The Field Marshall... says, Yes!"

By the time General Joffre returned to his headquarters a full month had passed since Germany had declared war on France. The month which had begun with the greatest of intentions, was ending with a continent, in fact the world, at a turning point. August, 1914, would forever be one of France's darkest months.

Although it could be said her Commander-in-Chief would now have to put the requirement to save his country within the context of his putting it into a position whereby it needed to be saved, somehow the weight of the first responsibility would be held in balance by his being equal to the second. And so on September the 5th, 1914, General Joffre announced to his staff:

"Gentlemen, we will fight on the Marne!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

### The battle that saved France

The first virtue in a soldier is endurance of fatigue;

courage is only the second virtue.

Napoleon Bonaparte

It was Sunday, September the 6th, and as weary French soldiers assembled to hear their orders this morning, their commanders would attempt to summon a power greater than any shield or sword, bullet or bayonet. With their spoken word, the breath of every officer, of every battalion, of every army would be summed; combined as one - to fan the ember of élan. The French fighting spirit, thought to be dead, had not been extinguished after all. As General Joffre's order was read, one can imagine the expression of every French soldier turning from exhausted to refreshed, from hopeless to hopeful. The time for counter-attack had finally come.

"Now, as the battle is joined on which the safety of the country depends," the order read, "everyone must be reminded that this is no longer the time for looking back. Every effort must be made to attack and throw back the enemy. A unit, which finds it impossible to advance must, regardless of cost, hold its ground and be killed on the spot rather than fall back. In the present circumstances no failure will be tolerated."

The battle known as the 'Miracle of the Marne' began at 6:00 a.m. As General von Kluck's army bypassed Paris and pursued the French Army to the east, the Allies attacked his right flank causing a significant gap between the German 1st and 2nd armies, putting them both in great peril.

Despite their best efforts, the B.E.F. and the French 5th Army were unable to exploit the breach between the two German armies, and a breakthrough was not achieved. With the order from Chief-of-Staff General von Moltke to retire, the two German armies retreated at a pace faster than the exhausted Allies could pursue them. Subsequently, the Germans were able to end their withdrawal and fortify their position north of the river Aisne.

The battle was a strategic victory for the Allies. The French Army, with the aid of the British Expeditionary Force, managed not only to stop the advance of the German Army, but it also denied them their decisive victory.

In offering a reason why the Germans could not deliver the final blow, General von Kluck wrote:

"That men will let themselves be killed where they stand, that is a well-known thing and counted on in every plan of battle. But that men who have retreated for ten days, sleeping on the ground and half dead with fatigue, should be able to take up their rifles and attack when the bugle sounds, is a thing upon which we never counted."

The first Battle of the Marne was, without question, a turning point in the war. Paris was saved, but a large part of France's industrial northeast would be lost for the duration of the conflict. The war would go on, but few at this point could imagine for how long and at what cost.

With the end of the First Battle of the Marne, so came the last day of the Munsters' stay in Etreux. As a result of the losses experienced there, the 2nd Royal Munster Fusiliers were removed from the B.E.F's 1st Division, 1st Guards Brigade and replaced by the 1st Battalion of the Queen's own Cameron Highlanders. As the 2nd RMF was rebuilt, and the missing in the ranks replaced, Daniel and Sully would agree, the void left by the regiment had been more than competently filled by the Camerons.

It had been sixteen days since the Munsters did their own part attempting to deny the Germans their victory. Sixteen days, though, would only record the beginning of their suffering. By now the insidious creep of malnutrition was beginning to grip most of the men. And their ranks had been growing since the 27th of August.

Pockets of men, which were stranded behind enemy lines during the battle, found few, if any choices available to them. Some would appeal for help from the locals and find their valour rewarded with food and shelter, while others would try to make it back to England. Incredibly, a small number would succeed in that effort. For most, though, hunger only deepened the wounds left by battle. Many brave soldiers would, in the end, give themselves up.

Unfortunately, the severely wounded still in Etreux would have to be left behind in the village. For what the Miracle of the Marne accomplished for France, it now required Allied prisoners to be moved further to the rear. It was still a mobile war; one where the front line was yet to be determined.

It was early in the morning when a small commotion on the other side of the yard awakened Sully. It was Lieutenant Gower, attempting to rouse those that were still trying to rest.

Sully prodded Daniel to wake up.

He only groaned.

Again, he prompted his friend.

"I need a few more minutes, mate," Daniel mumbled. If he seemed distracted, he had reason to be. Starvation was now compounded by sleep deprivation. Exhaustion had become a constant companion. And in the same way that Etreux was only one battle in a wider war, for the Munster P.o.W's, every day was now being defined in terms of its internal conflict. "If it weren't for thoughts of home," Daniel reflected, "there would be little to keep me going."

The dew had fallen during the night, making everything miserably damp. The men's uniforms spoke for them, attesting to the fact that both the worn as well as the wearer had not been washed in several weeks. Like every other village the war passed through this past summer, the stench left behind by a million marching soldiers lingered long after they were gone.

It was as if something in the small French village was rotting. If there was anything righteous about war, it had long moved on. Prolonged stares from sunken eyes left Daniel to realize there was only one thing left worth pursuing, their dignity. And although Etreux had little choice but to accept her ignobility, those who remained welcomed every opportunity to rise above it. It kept their spirits alive.

Sully coughed before looking up. He could see a German guard detail waiting by the entrance to the courtyard. "Something's up, Danny."

Without so much as a newspaper to cover them, the men lay on the cold hard ground. As the Lieutenant made his way through the group, coughing and groaning accompanied the movements of men struggling to their feet.

Lieutenant Gower stopped amongst a small group of men still lying on the ground. He bent over as he walked, prompting several of them with a tap on the shoulder. "Everyone's to fall in," he said quietly, as if in respect of their condition.

Anticipating a repeat of the same order, Sullivan, Daniel and several other men in their group helped each other up.

"Fall in, men," the Lieutenant repeated, with a raspy voice.

"Where are we off to, Sir?" Sullivan asked.

"I don't know, men," he answered. Then turning his head slightly to see if he could speak freely, he added: "But if we're being moved further to the rear, it must mean we're finally pushing them back."

"Thank you, Sir," Daniel stated. "We sure could use a dose of optimism."

"Let it put a spring in your step then," said the Lieutenant, "because I'm not sure where we're heading, or how long it will take to get there."

"You're coming with us, Sir?" Sully asked.

"For now, Sullivan. It's my understanding the officers are to be separated later."

After looking to see if any German soldiers were watching, the Lieutenant took a moment to relay one more order before departing.

"Now listen... on my command," he began quietly. Lieutenant Gower took the opportunity to briefly explain what Captain Wise wanted the men to do. "Pass that on to every man will you?" he added, before the men slowly formed a line.

As the Mill was located in the south part of the village, the Munsters began their trek northward once again. Under a German escort, they marched smartly, as if pride were their only accompaniment. And for a quarter of an hour, they did so, seemingly at peace with their fate, until...

"Battalion, HALT!" the lieutenant shouted loudly. The men abruptly stopped marching.

Instantly, their German escorts recoiled. There was no change in marching orders. Feeling compelled to keep their prisoners moving, the Munsters ignored the German countermands.

"Was machen Sie?" "What are you doing?" an officer at the front shouted.

"Right Turn!" Lieutenant Gower shouted from the front of the column.

"Weitergehen!" "Keep moving!" he yelled.

With another repeating the same order, "Weitergehen," the escort guard brandished their rifles to demonstrate their forcefulness.

But when their commanding officer realized where they had stopped, he suddenly relented. "Es ist in Ordnung," "It's alright," he yelled, waving for his men to stand down. "Es ist in Ordnung," he repeated.

"Lassen Sie sie einen Moment," he said quietly. "Give them a moment."

The German guards looked to their right and saw the men were facing what would become the Etreux Memorial Cemetery.

"Salute, Front!" Crisp salutes were offered to their fellow Munsters who would rest forever in Etreux. The German Officer looked on, and found within him a sense of respect for his adversary.

"Attention!" the Lieutenant commanded.

He followed with, "Off Caps!"

And then, when the men were still, "For the fallen!" he lamented.

Without hesitation, each man knew which words would follow:

~

'God save our gracious King,

Long live our noble King,

God save the King!

Send him victorious,

Happy and glorious,

Long to reign over us,

God save the King'

~

"On Caps, Left Turn!" the Lieutenant shouted.

"Forward, March!" he ordered.

While the men resumed their march out of the village, their German escort, including the officer in charge of the detail, stood stilled by the honourable display. The Munsters proudly marched right by them, knowing most would never see Etreux again.

Another two difficult days of marching lay ahead. For a second time, they proceeded north, and for a third time, they covered much of the same ground they did in their original march toward Belgium. This time though, as they retraced their steps, the villages through which their column passed saw only a shadow of the battalion's former self. The French hospitality they once enjoyed was now beyond their reach and held firmly within the German grip. Food and water, which the Munsters so desperately needed, were now resources reserved almost entirely for German soldiers.

Exhaustion, hunger and thirst plagued every man at every step. And though their captors ensured the Irish were pushed to their lowest ebb, with every stride the spirit of comradery remained strong. With pride still on parade, some soldiers marched until they could no more. Yet in memory of their fine Major Charrier, the regiment would achieve its own victory when able-bodied Irishmen helped those who were at the end of their endurance.

As men of the Munsters exchanged expressionless stares with French on-lookers, they each longed to be delivered from their new fate. Elder French women were pushed out of the way as expanding columns of prisoners slowly moved at the point of the bayonet.

By September 13th, the Germans had retreated north of the Aisne River. Though the Allies had the Germans on the run, their pursuit of the enemy was hampered by exhaustion and thus was insufficient to take advantage of the opportunities afforded the pursuer. Using this valuable time wisely, the Germans entrenched their positions north of the Aisne. From there they were able to defend the assault of the French 5th and 6th Armies in concert with the B.E.F.

By the 18th of September, the Germans had proven their positions were impossible to overtake, and by the 28th, both sides realized the fighting had to be taken in a new direction. After the First Battle of the Aisne, the Allies and the Germans learned the value of the defensive strategy. Both sides, in turn, put all their effort toward outflanking the other as the fighting turned northward.

If the Battle of the Marne ensured the war would go on, the Battle of the Aisne determined how it would be fought. From the Aisne River, the Allies and the Germans headed north in an attempt to gain the advantage through manoeuvres designed to outflank the other. As the entrenched positions established during the Battle of the Aisne scribed their way northward, some German Army units arrived from Belgium with many British units arriving directly from England. More than several hard-fought battles defined what would become The Race to the Sea, with one becoming a defining moment for the B.E.F.

On orders from the Commander-in-Chief, in early October the B.E.F. were transported by train from Aisne north to Flanders in Belgium. The first units of the B.E.F. reached their destination by the 14th of October, and by the 21st the last of General Haig's 1st Corp arrived, ready to march into Ypres.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

### The Honour Roll

How poor are they that have not patience?

What wound did ever heal but by degrees?

William Shakespeare

If the city of 'Ypres' was poised to become a defining word for the B.E.F., the uncertain designation 'Missing' was ready to characterize Mary's entire world.

September would come and go, as would most of October, before Mary learned of her husband's fate. Daniel had been gone for more than two months now, and there had been little if any information with regard to his regiment, let alone a single soldier. If knowing was better than not knowing, Mary was about to be informed of the Munsters' ordeal, yet find herself no further ahead.

On the morning of Thursday October the 19th, Mary was sitting in her kitchen with her father. With The Times open on the table, her fingers nervously scrolled through the names. As she mumbled those starting with 'C,' and then got to the 'D's, having already read the article, her father knew what was coming next.

There were hundreds of names. "They can't all be Munsters!" Mary gasped. But, unfortunately, most of them were.

Under the 'D's, there were 5 Donoghues. The one that caught Mary's eye, and stopped her heart was, Donoghue, 7883 Pte. D,

"Donoghue, 7883 Pte. D," she repeated.

"Many Munster Fusiliers Missing," she stated emphatically. "What does that mean?"

Mary looked up at her father for reassurance, but the moment was surpassing him as well. Patrick's eyes were speaking for him. His daughter's sorrow had already become his own.

"Missing?" Mary repeated, standing up from her chair. Her eyes gazed out into nothingness, as if the past had just been severed from the future. She felt adrift, horribly alone. Nervously, one hand caressed the other. She looked down at the floor and pursed her lips. Tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Mary knew very well that she had rehearsed this very moment. She had time more than enough time to do so during her many sleepless nights. With darkness came the blackest of thoughts, torturing thoughts, which at times, she couldn't control.

"What if he never comes home?" she obsessed while lying awake. "How will I raise the boys on my own, with another one on the way? How will we... I ever live without him?"

Though she had given lengthy consideration to every option and every possible outcome the whole effort, she realized, was a complete waste of time.

"What does 'Missing' mean, Father?" she innocently asked. Patrick stood up and was ready to offer consolation. Finding herself at the ebb of capitulation, Mary stepped forward and lowered her head onto her father's shoulder. She began to sob.

With Patrick struggling to hold back his own tears, he initially wondered what to do or say. Mary's father wasn't a demonstrative man, but that didn't matter now.

Patrick knew that at times such as these, words were inadequate. He yearned to atone for years of insensitivity and indifference, and he refused to let the moment slip from his grasp. Pushing aside any feeling of awkwardness, Patrick caressed his daughter's back.

"Well, Mary," he said, clearing his throat. "It means Daniel has been either... killed... or is a prisoner of war." Patrick paused for a moment. "And until we hear differently, I think we should believe in the latter."

Patrick waited for Mary to lift her head off his shoulder. Seemingly embarrassed, she accepted her father's timely gesture of his handkerchief.

"I feel like with one word two decades have evaporated," Mary said. She couldn't remember the last time she cried on her father's shoulder.

Patrick could see his daughter's emotions straining from one extreme to the other, as she struggled to settle on one. With anguish rising marginally above hopelessness, she turned and took a couple of steps toward the kitchen window.

"I'm sorry, Father."

"Don't be, Mary."

She rested her hands on the countertop in front of the basin. "I honestly thought I had prepared myself for this." Silence accompanied Mary's gaze out the window.

"Still, it's a shock learning of it this way. Maybe it would be better not to tell the boys for now."

Mary turned her head slightly and nodded in agreement.

"I'm sorry, Mary, but I'm afraid I must be off to work. Would you like me to ask your mother to come over?" Patrick drifted toward the front hallway.

Mary didn't answer. Glancing over to the paper again, her thoughts seemed to be preoccupied by the long list of names. On a sorrowful tide, she felt herself drifting away from the real world. Yet with the familiar sound of feet rumbling down the stairs, Mary was pulled back toward reality. She closed the paper before the boys were in the hall.

"Grandad," David yelled. He ran over to hug his grandfather.

Steve instantly sensed something was going on. "Is Gran here too?" he asked.

Patrick struggled to dispel any indication of what he and Mary had been discussing. He cleared his throat. "No, I've just come by to see your mother."

"About what?"

"Steven Donoghue," Mary admonished. "You don't talk to your grandfather like that!"

"That's alright," he said, before turning to look at Mary.

In a single expression, Mary knew her father was inquiring whether he should say anything to the boys. As they fidgeted about by their grandfather's side, Mary shook her head. Leaving it to her father to give her time to compose herself, Mary turned away. She tried in vain to dry her eyes without the boys noticing.

"Well," Patrick said, "I just came over to check in on things."

"Is that all?" Steven asked. He couldn't help noticing the newspaper sitting on the kitchen table.

"Is that all?" Patrick laughed. He slowly made his way to the front door and prompted the boys to accompany him. "Isn't a grandfather allowed to check in on his grandsons now and again?"

Steve followed. "I suppose," he glanced over his shoulder, "but Mom seems upset about something."

"Everything is fine," Mary stated, appearing at the threshold between the hallway and kitchen. "Now we shouldn't be making your grandfather late for work, so say your goodbyes before we have something to eat." Mary joined the three of them at the door.

After the boys finished their farewells, and Mary saw Patrick out the front door, Steve and Dave went into the kitchen. But when Mary closed the front door, she turned only to be confronted by Steve. "Where's the newspaper?" he boldly stated. "I saw it on the table."

"I'm not sure I like your tone, Mister!"

"When Grandad comes by in the morning with the paper, it means something's happened."

Mary was somewhat startled by Steven's frankness. Not having the opportunity to rehearse what she would say to the boys, Mary walked into the kitchen as if she didn't want to discuss the matter.

Steve persisted. "Is there something you're keeping from us?"

"Steven!" Mary blurted. "That is no way to talk to your mother."

As Steve's heart softened, so did his expression. Mary sat down at the table and looked at the boys standing before her.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said. "But if there was any news about Father, you would tell us, wouldn't you? I am ten years old."

"And I'm eight," Dave stated. "We can take it.'

"I know you can," Mary said, grasping a hand from each of the boys. She smiled proudly. "You boys are growing up so fast, do you know that?"

Giving in to Steve's concern, Mary took the better part of an hour to break the news to them. In the end, the boys put on their bravest faces. Steve lasted the longest before his true maturity became evident. To his credit, though, he persisted with his own version of how the future would unfold.

Mary listened intently as Steve recounted his father's words: "If you put your faith in love you will always be rewarded, son."

Surprised by Steve's grown up perspective, Mary's heart warmed with his comments. It was as if Daniel had spoken the words himself.

But when Mary turned to Dave, she could tell by his expression that words were falling short, that he was not ready to be consoled.

"Do you remember your father saying that?" she asked.

Dave said nothing.

"Well, when you're ready," Mary said, softly, "I'd really like to know what you're thinking."

Dave just closed his eyes so tightly that a tear was forced down each cheek. "I just want Daddy back," he shuddered.

Mary reached out to take Dave's hand. Unexpectedly, though, he took a step backward. Disillusionment was in his eyes. Mary sighed, wondering what to say next, but before she could open her mouth, Dave turned and ran upstairs.

"Dave!" Steve shouted. "He's coming back!"

Steve stepped forward to go after his brother, but his mother held out her arm to stop him. "Let's give him a moment or two." Mary turned and looked at him. "Steve, we should be careful about what we say. Do you understand what I mean?"

Steve looked at his mother in the eye. "Yes, but he is coming back." With only a blank stare from his mother, he repeated: "He is, Mom."

The birth of a smile graced Mary's face. For a moment she wondered how a boy of ten could be so much stronger than she. Mary held out her arms and welcomed her son's embrace. She let her tired eyes close before indulging only one thought. Oh, she so longed to believe her young son.

A few minutes later, Mary slowly pushed the boys' bedroom door open. Dave was sitting quietly on his bed, looking at the only picture he had of his father. It was the one they had taken together during their outing some two months earlier. Then Mary noticed what Dave was wearing.

In the time his mother gave him to settle down, Dave had changed into the clothes from the photograph, a tweed coat and cap bought by his grandmother. His shorts, wool socks and shiny black shoes had since not been worn. He looked up at his mother. She smiled after seeing that his demeanour had changed. His effervescent heart was too hard to suppress.

"I'm alright, Mom."

Sitting down beside him, Mary put her hand on his opposite shoulder. She pulled him close. "I knew you would be."

He looked back at the photograph and saw a more innocent version of himself. A moment of silence passed, before Dave spoke up. "It's time to grow up, isn't it?"

Mary let out a long breath. Somehow, the experience seemed complete.

"Not too fast, my son. Not too fast!"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

### The Western Front

Keep your fears to yourself,

but share your courage with others.

Robert Louis Stevenson

Although the First Battle of Ypres began as a succession of battles starting on the 10th of October, for the Royal Munster Fusiliers November 9th would become a date its Old Contemptibles would not soon forget. It was the day the 2nd Battalion returned to the line. After regimental reserves filled the voids, the Munsters were reformed and sent with the 3rd Brigade of its old 1st Division to Ypres. The Irish of Munster were ready to fight again.

For almost a full month the Ypres salient line of trenches did not remain intact. They were breached by the Germans only to be restored by the British and then breached and restored again. During this time, many officers, including General Haig, commanded their units from forward positions in the thick of battle. And while bravery was exhibited by every officer of every regiment, as many as 47 battalion commanders were killed while leading the attack. The valour of the enlisted men followed in their officers' footsteps, with some battalions measuring only 300 men remaining. At Ypres, some battalions completely ceased to exist.

Despite this tragic fact, the B.E.F. and her allies achieved their objective: the Germans failed in all attempts to break through the line. Though the First Battle of Ypres ended with the onset of winter, those who remained in the trenches found conditions deteriorating as temperatures dropped. With precipitation changing from rain to freezing rain and finally snow, the climate of Flanders proved an ally to none.

Though the Ypres' survivors struggled on, those who made the supreme sacrifice did not. By November, British forces, having been bolstered by new recruits, rose to nearly 160,000. Losses during battle were staggering, though. At Ypres alone, the B.E.F. sustained 58,155 casualties. In total, from August to the end of November, they numbered 86,237. Incredibly, steel helmets were not standard issue at this time. They wouldn't find their way to the front lines until the following year.

For Lord Kitchener and Sir John French their worst fears had been confirmed. Ypres had indeed taken the best that England had to offer. Of the battalions, which landed in France with the British Expeditionary Force in August, each of them had been reduced, on average, to just one officer and thirty men. The best-trained and most experienced army England ever sent abroad, save for a few... a few Old Contemptibles... was no more.

After the last German attempt to break through the line failed, the 2nd Munsters were relieved of their position by the Grenadier Guards. At 3:15 a.m., exhausted, caked with mud, soaking wet and hungry, the men managed to stagger back to the Brigade Reserve. While there, they shared a warm meal; the last of which was enjoyed almost ninety-six hours before. In a graphic depiction of what life was becoming for a soldier at the front, the next two nights were spent encamped in the rain near Hooge. Though they bedded down in an open field, one that was now saturated by rain, they slept knowing their second encounter with the enemy had avenged the loss of their mates in the first.

If the Munster Fusiliers had it rough in the trenches of Belgium, it could be said the conditions facing those on their way to Germany were just as desperate. After marching for two days and nights, Daniel's captors finally found a station on a stretch of railroad that had not been sabotaged during the French retreat. There, they waited to be transported by train to their next destination.

Daniel and Sully huddled in the dark with the rest of their fellow Munsters in a group now measuring in the hundreds. Sentries slowly walked the perimeter of a field now containing prisoners of several regiments. As two German soldiers met to share a cigarette, the brilliance of a match revealed expressions of disinterest in their task. Though the British soldiers sat quietly in order to conserve what measure of endurance they had left, their spirits waited patiently, knowing it would only be a matter of time before they would be buoyed again by humour.

As usual, Sully was the first to put in. "Do you realize with all the marching we've done we could have walked right across Europe?"

A now bearded Daniel tried to laugh, but he involuntarily coughed. It was becoming evident the lack of proper food and water was taking its toll. "You should think about going into business for yourself," he said in a raspy voice. He cleared his throat. "I can see the banner now: Europe on four pairs of boots!"

They both smiled then laughed. Not a hearty laugh, nor one that had been beaten down. It was one whose ebb could still easily blossom into boisterousness with the sharing of a hearty meal and stiff drink.

"Book early," Sully added, with a chuckle, "while your size is still available!"

Daniel raised his hand to gesture demonstratively: "You could bill it as: A soleful adventure!"

By now, several of the other men were laughing along.

"What do you think we should bill the next leg of our journey as?" Sully joked.

Sergeant Foley piped up, "Europe by cattle car"

"With three square meals a month!" Private Murphy added.

Daniel laughed then groaned as he lowered his back onto the cool ground. He looked up at the light of the full moon and felt the embrace of fatigue. He closed his eyes to rest.

Sully looked at his friend before doing the same. "I'd be happy with a meal of any shape right now," he lamented.

By morning their train had finally arrived. With the hour of the day's first meal coming and going with nothing to mark it by, each Munster helped the next, as the men were loaded like animals. With regard to their accommodation, Sergeant Foley was right. Though the marching was over for a while, overcrowded boxcars would now carry the men further into Germany.

During this, the longest train ride of everyone's life, Daniel, Sully and the rest of the Munsters encouraged each other to persevere. Having no food or water for the entire trip, the blurred transition of one day unremarkably flowing into the next was perceivable only by thin slits of daylight penetrating the filthy, stench-ridden car. The train rattled onward; to where, no one knew. As daylight seemed to fade again, and the car rocked back and forth, one face was illuminated and then another. And although their journey was becoming as much a spiritual test as it was physical, one where men peer deeply into their souls for the will to survive, each soldier was still willing to forgive the next if in the darkness his expression was devoid of his will to live.

As many as fifty bodies rocked back and forth in each car. With barely enough room to sit, able-bodied men, like Daniel and Sully, had to stand for the entire duration.

Lord, please don't let me die here... like this, Daniel prayed.

He couldn't help feeling as though he were drifting beyond any earthly concern. The train's rhythm resonated with clicking rails and squealing steel. And with the sustenance to survive beyond his control, subconsciously he grasped for what would give meaning to a life; a life perceived to be nearing its end.

God, for my family's sake... don't let me just disappear from the face of the earth!

Dream-like thoughts flowed backward through time. First, he was looking back waving at Mary and the boys as he left for France. Next it was David's first Christmas with his older brother Steve. Mary looked at Daniel with a smile. It was a moment he would never forget. Then as a boy at St. Mary's Orphanage, he waited patiently for a promised visit from his father. He waited and waited all afternoon until the only voice he heard was that of a reassuring nun. Her voice still echoed, as it did then, through the institution's stark and empty halls. Finally, there was another voice, one he hadn't heard in many, many years.

"Daniel," his mother said. "Listen to me, listen to me!" she implored. His mother was trying to conclude a long and heart-wrenching dialogue. Daniel was a small boy. He looked at his mother kneeling before him. Tears, which began on seeing the St. Mary's sign, flowed freely, as he and his mother walked hand in hand through the orphanage's front gate.

"No matter what happens," she said, as tears rolled down her cheeks. She swallowed, trying in vain to gain some composure.

"You will remain part of me... and I part of you, do you understand?"

Daniel sniffled while slowly nodding his head up and down.

"Please remember... through love, we are together forever!"

Daniel lurched forward to hug his mother. "Please don't leave me, Mommy!" he cried. With his arms wrapped around his mother, he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing tears to flow again.

"I'm so sorry, Daniel, but I have to," She said, still crying.

The man standing beside her spoke up. "Alright, mum, it's time we be off."

Being an officer of the Poor Law Board of Guardians, he was executing an order, which found Mary, Daniel's mother, unfit to provide for the last of her four children.

Mary then pulled Daniel from her, and held his face lovingly with both her hands.

"Someday," she said tearfully, "we will be together forever!"

The official then reached for Mary's arm and helped her to her feet. As a nun moved forward and placed her hands on Daniel's shoulders, Mary began to walk down the hallway toward the front door.

"I will love you forever, my son!" Mary said, sobbing.

"I will too, Mommy, I promise!" Daniel replied, in kind.

A young Daniel listened to the sound of his mother's shoes echoing throughout the hallway. Reaching the front door of the orphanage, she looked over her shoulder. His mind would forever reverberate with her footsteps. Then, sadly, standing outside the orphanage doors, she stared through their glass panes as they closed.

Strangely, the rhythm of her walk was at first intermeshed and then supplanted by the clicking of rails. Daniel awoke slowly from a semi-conscious state. He wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. In the pitch-blackness of night, he struggled for several moments to figure out where he was. Focusing on the stars above him, he could hear the rhythmic interval of a train's wheels in the distance. With its far off whistle, memories of the last four days and nights began to sink in.

Daniel was lying quietly in the dark on a sandy landscape just outside what appeared to be an encampment of sorts. The long harrowing train journey had been punctuated by few opportunities to disembark.

After stopping in German villages to stock the train with what only the locomotive required, Daniel and his fellow mates were allowed to set their feet on firm ground. Relief was fleeting, though. Suffering from conditions barely suitable to transport livestock, the men then had to further endure the wrath of the townspeople, those whose men had left to join the war. German expletives were frequently followed by whatever was close at hand to throw.

"Schwein Hund Englander!" the locals would yell. Their German captors would often strip the English of their Greatcoats. The ordeal was as offensive to the body as it was to the spirit and mind. Once proud soldiers, they were now completely defenceless. The warrior in each of them was slowly bled out.

Even after returning to the perceived safety of the cattle car, closing the doors offered only limited protection. Two trap doors near the top of each car were left open on purpose, enabling stones to be thrown inside. Sometimes black bread would be tossed in, however, the men often received nothing at all. Harrowing as it was, Daniel felt relieved it was finally over.

Rolling his head to his side, the muscles in Daniel's neck seemed less than obliging. He began to recall the ordeal, seeing Sully sleeping several arm lengths away. He and his fellow Munsters had arrived somewhere in Germany. Although he was tempted to think the last four days were the worst of his life, the memory of his mother leaving him at St. Mary's somehow still seemed worse.

If as a boy, I survived that, he thought to himself, then surely, as a man, I can survive this. Then as the memory of his mother's love drifted through his consciousness and tempered the memory of being left at the orphanage, the cracks in Daniel's lips were made all the more evident as he smiled.

Daniel wouldn't be smiling for long, though. He and the Munsters had been transported to what had become known as 'The Black Hole of Germany.' It was a Work Camp at Sennelager, in central Germany.

The Munsters arrived at Sennelager in mid-September to an internment camp already straining from an influx of Belgian, French and British soldiers. Also taken prisoner in the first days and weeks of the war were many Merchant Seamen captured at sea or in port. Foreign civilians, some even on vacation in Germany, were rounded up and incarcerated after being unjustly convicted of spying. Though segregated, they too experienced the harsh reality of being held at Sennelager. It would become, most notably for the British, an incarceration that could only be characterized as dehumanizing.

Upon arriving, the Munsters were left almost entirely to their own skills to survive. With the requirement to rapidly expand the camp, much of the former cavalry training range remained a work in progress. Some prisoners were housed in barracks, while many, like the British prisoners taken during the battle of Mons, were sheltered only by canvas tents.

The latest arrivals, including the Munsters, were dealt the direst of fates. They had to suffer both day and night with absolutely no shelter from nature's harshness. And with the expectation of an early end to the war now dashed, it was obvious the Germans were by no means prepared to handle even the most modest rates of enemy captured.

Though the Munsters would soon experience firsthand Sennalager's ruthless reputation, when Daniel and Sully arrived they found their fate tied less to their captors' brutality and more to the hand of nature's fury. Only a fenced compound accounted for their accommodations. For nearly two weeks the Munsters were forced to huddle together in an open yard as more prisoners arrived daily.

The Munsters writhed through relentless autumn wind and rain until further tents arrived. Then, with only a canvassed canopy to deflect every form of precipitation, they waited in turn for additional barracks to be built. This was accomplished by using the now swelling supply of prison labour. With shelter being only one of the necessities to survive, it took only the first meal at Sennelager to experience the range of food and drink that would have to sustain them for some time to come. By any nutritional standard, it was a diet of starvation.

Meals were unscheduled and often infrequent. Most mornings, the men were lucky to share a few gulps of something resembling coffee. This, Daniel and Sully soon found out, was made from toasted acorns or chestnuts. The accompaniment of milk or sugar had to be left to the imagination. Again, similar to Etreux, Daniel had to tolerate a watery soup made with cabbage, leaving it wanting for any sort of variety. Loaves of black bread were at first welcomed until they had to be divided into five equal parts.

Not surprisingly, the men instinctively divided themselves into small groups, those resembling a squad of eight to twelve men. When the bread cart rolled through the compound, the escorted provider cast out the loaves as if those receiving them were wild animals. Though most men did their best to embody a disciplined soldier, others acted as if they were devolving. Suffering Daniel thought, has a way of turning back time.

On one occasion, Sully noticed a disturbance among a neighbouring group. He hated to see his fellow Munsters fight, especially over food. After intervening in one unfortunate melee, though, he found his desire for order unwanted. He was punched in the face and shoved back, only to be caught by his good friend. Both he and Daniel were taken aback, but Sully was unusually dispirited. It was a new low, and his expression reflected it. He looked at Daniel. 'What are we becoming?' he asked.

Incredibly, after dividing the loaf into five equal parts, each piece was expected to last a man six meals. No meat at all was ever made available to the prisoners. Being woefully inadequate to sustain a human life, prisoners continued to lose weight and slowly starve to death. Even the steeliest of dispositions had trouble confronting the disintegration of their once proud battalion. It was heart wrenching to watch, and even worse, to see a man reduced to tears.

It's hard to imagine the prisoners having to confront more than this, but they did. A further challenge was faced by soldiers who arrived at Sennelager with wounds suffered in battle. Unfortunately, the wounded were many, while physicians were few. There were far too many wounded for the only German military surgeon in the camp to treat. Long queues compounded wounds in dire need of attention. Yet the one complication that tainted every prognosis was the fact Sennelager's military doctor vehemently hated the British.

In fact, so fervent was this doctor's distain for his English patients that he only provided his services under the strictest of circumstances. Wounded, who had lined up for hours amid the unsanitary conditions of the compound, were told to remove their bandages before treatment. If they didn't or more often couldn't, unnerving screams testified to the doctor's lack of compassion. This process of self-triaging was both difficult and painful, considering most bandages had not been changed or tended to for days if not weeks. With wounds then exposed, many found themselves beyond an arbitrary cut-off point in the queue whereby they were instructed to return the following day.

Fortunately for the English, this German military surgeon was not the only medical practitioner attached to the camp, and it would be remiss not to mention another doctor, one who became nothing less than a saviour to those desperate for help. His name was Doctor Ascher.

Although Doctor Ascher was a civilian living some three miles from the camp, he became a regular within the walls of Sennelager. While many in need of medical attention were turned away by the military surgeon, Dr. Ascher worked tirelessly far beyond the hours of his counterpart. Seeing his patients defined only by the help they needed and the suffering his hands could ease, Dr. Ascher made his services available whenever they were required.

At times it was only his intervention that prevented ill soldiers from being forced to carry out duties that would have worked them to their death. With near fluent English, and a cheerful demeanour being the perfect complement to his genuine and caring spirit, it wasn't long before his patients conferred upon him the title, 'The English Doctor.'

Like many other prisoners, Daniel and Sully had put in their hard time at various jobs, without compensation. Building roads and railways were among the most difficult to endure, while farming was the most common. Though at the end of each day the men could see the fruit of their labour, each man's pride was less a tally of what his hands had created and born more from the most valuable fruit any labour, that being, the relief of having survived another day's work.

With Daniel and Sully enduring their daily toil separately until this point, it was with great satisfaction that the two friends finally found themselves on the same work gang.

"Alright, get moving!" one of the German guards bellowed.

With Daniel and Sully beginning to push from behind, they and some thirty other prisoners attempted to get the loaded hay wagon moving. There were no oxen or horses left on local farms. Having been taken by the Kaiser's army, the prisoners of Sennelager had become the German farmer's new beast of burden.

"Move it!" he yelled in a thick German accent.

Half a dozen German soldiers lowered their bayonets to get the heavily laden wagon moving forward. Some twenty men were harnessed to two large ropes in the front of the wagon, while close to ten were divided between pushing from the two sides and the back. Their destination was Paderborn, roughly 8 kilometres south of Sennelager.

"How are you holding up?" Daniel asked. While pushing with outstretched arms, he looked at Sully on his left.

"I have to say, I owe a great debt to the Commandant," Sully teased.

After spending much of the day loading the wagon with hay, the men struggled to get it out of the field and onto the road.

Daniel couldn't help letting loose a chuckle. "You do, do you?" Even in his deprived state, Daniel realized how much he had missed his friend's sense of humour.

"I say if he only knew how hard I tried to lose that last stone, (14 pounds.)" In between sentences, Sully panted heavily. "We have an arrangement you know."

"An arrangement?" Daniel grinned, breathing in kind. "For what, I'm afraid to ask?"

The wagon lurched and slowed as it rolled across the uneven ground.

"Well, considering the expense I would have incurred, you know... in slimming down to my optimum fighting weight."

Daniel pushed hard, but continued to play along. "When is the weigh-in scheduled?" he grunted.

"Well, I'm afraid I'll have to wait until I've bottomed out!"

"And when might that happen?"

"That, my friend, will occur either upon my discharge from this establishment, or..." Sully gasped, before pausing for a moment.

"Or?" Daniel piped up. His facial expression transitioned from a grimace to a smile, and then back again.

"Or, my being accepted at the next!"

"The next?"

"Yes, well," Sully explained. "Let's just say, at the next... one's physical stature comes second to his spiritual dimension."

Daniel almost laughed out loud, but caught himself just before drawing the ire of the guards.

"I'm only thinking of the pallbearers, you know," Sully admitted.

"The pall bearers... of course," Daniel repeated. "Did you still want to explain you arrangement with the commandant?"

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot. In return for helping me to drop two full weight classes, I've agreed to work for free," he stated emphatically.

"For free? That's generous of you."

Sully smiled. "It's the least I can do."

"I should be so lucky." Daniel suggested.

"Alright, Halt... Halt!" a guard shouted.

After the men managed to get the wagon up onto the road, their German escort allowed the exhausted men to take a short break.

"I could make the same arrangement for you, if you'd like?" Sully offered. He stood up and made an effort to straighten his back. Like every other man on the work gang, he couldn't help breathing heavily from the exertion.

"You'd do that for me?" Daniel joked. "Because I'm not sure I could negotiate that one on my own."

"Anything for you, Danny," Sully answered.

Daniel looked at his friend and was thankful to have him at his side. "Likewise, mate," he responded, smiling.

As the weeks turned into months, the Munsters continued to languish in Germany. During that time truth was indeed among the first casualties. The commandant of Sennelager let it be known letters leaving the camp would be heavily censored. Any attempts to divulge the true nature of their stay would find the writer suffering from a punishment consistent with the manner in which the camp was ruled. Blaming it partly on his ruthless nature, the men knew he was motivated more by what he wished to conceal from the civilized world.

It wasn't until late October when the first of Daniel's letters made it home.

~ ~ ~

"Mary!" Ellen yelled, after bursting through the front door.

Detecting an obvious strain in her mother's voice, Mary dropped her drying towel onto the dishes. She quickly peered down the hallway from the kitchen. Having left the door open behind her, Mary could see her mother trying to catch her breath.

Mary took two steps into the hallway. A jolt of anxiety caused her to instinctively place her right hand on her unborn baby. "What's wrong?"

Ellen was almost speechless, yet managed to draw Mary's attention to what she was holding. Ellen's hand rose as if for Mary to take what she was offering. With her heart beginning to pound, Mary couldn't at first distinguish whether her mother's tears were filled with joy or sorrow.

But Mary could see it was a letter. "Who's it from, Mother?" she asked. Her tone was both flat and matter-of-fact.

Ellen panted. "Mr. Deevy thought it might be best if I gave it to you."

After taking the envelope from her mother, Mary raised her head and closed her eyes. Is it my husband's handwriting or someone else's? she anguished.

Mary looked down and flipped the envelope over.

Her eyes opened wide, almost bursting with emotion.

"HE'S ALIVE!" she sobbed. Her legs instantly began to give out. With her mother easing her daughter's descent to the hallway floor, Mary's voice shuddered: "He alive, Mum! He's alive!"

Ellen sat beside Mary and listened to her daughter voice her appreciation. "Thank you, God! Oh, thank you, God!" Mary repeated as, she cried.

After opening the letter and reading the first few lines with Ellen's help, Mary got up and went to the kitchen. As she read the letter aloud, sentences were interrupted by the periodic requirement of her handkerchief and support of her mother.

The censor's mark of Sennelager was not needed on Daniel's letter. His own desire to protect his family from the true nature of his hardship was left only to his wife's intuitive suspicions. In so far as Daniel's letter brought his family back to life, it also gave them a reason to feel they could help their loved one survive. In the letter's three most important words was their call to action: Please send food!

With the boys help, Mary quickly translated those words into deeds by responding to Daniel's request for food and other essentials. As per his instructions, they were to be packaged under a limit of 10 pounds total weight. Coffee, condensed milk, tea, cheese and bacon were but a few items on a list, which contained items of clothing and toiletries. With pencil in hand, Daniel questioned the wisdom of suggesting how eagerly he awaited their packages. In the end, he preferred the thought of their life-saving effort being assembled not in haste, but with the care of their loving hands.

One Saturday afternoon, Lorne appeared at the front door. After greetings were exchanged, and they both revelled in the relief that Daniel was alive, Mary and Lorne sat down at the kitchen table for a cup of tea.

"Would it help if Cheryl and the girls put together a few things to send?"

Mary placed her cup into her saucer. "That would be wonderful! But I think he'd appreciate it even more if you were to include a few words."

"Are they being treated well?"

"He says they are... but I'm not so sure." Mary stood up from the table and brought the pot of tea. She refilled her cup. She was taking it black, now, like her husband. "Honestly, I don't know what to think. They seemed to be lacking in everything."

Lorne finished his cup. He looked up at Mary, while she topped up his. "And how are you holding up?"

"Alright, I suppose." Mary put the pot back on the stove and stared out the kitchen window. "My only concern now is how long will it go on for? How long will Daniel have to hang on?"

"He's got you and the boys, Mary. That's all the motivation he needs."

Mary feigned a smile, but truthfully, it was a thin veil over lingering doubts. "I wish I were as strong as he. It's the waiting that's difficult; waiting for the bloody war to be over, for the next letter, waiting for Daniel to..."

"That brings me to the other reason why I came over," Lorne interjected. "I hope you don't mind, but I've made some inquiries at the hospital. If you're looking for something to do, they could use some extra help."

Mary seemed taken aback. "Me... work at the hospital?"

"Well, Danny's Old Contemptibles are coming back in droves. Unfortunately, some of them are in a terrible state. They can use all the volunteers they can get."

Mary wondered if it were even possible, considering she was expecting.

"What would I do?" she asked, caressing her abdomen.

Lorne shrugged, slightly. "You could read to them. I think you would be a pleasant distraction," he paused, almost stuttering, "I mean being with child and all."

Mary laughed before becoming more serious. "Do you think they would let me do that, read to them, I mean?"

Lorne finished his tea, and stood up from his chair. "It's already been arranged."

Mary was thrilled. "Don't tell Cheryl about this one, then." she stated, stepping forward to give Lorne a kiss on the cheek. She followed that with a hug.

As November merged into December, Mary hung on with the boys at 10 Hogarth Lane. And with the Christmas season approaching, the time between letters became less of a burden, at least for Steven and David. For Mary, the hours spent at the Fulham Hospital filled each of those days with purpose. Working once or twice a week in the recovery ward gave her something to look forward to.

At first, Mary only read to the wounded. But as the days and weeks progressed, so did the requirement to tend to an ever-increasing number of returning soldiers. Her duties remained light, though, still reading, mostly the newspapers. Having to read the same articles to her many patients, she was becoming quite knowledgeable about the war and its progression. In a reciprocal way, some soldiers were comfortable enough to relate not only the unfortunate details of their experience, but what it was like being a soldier at the front, the courage it took, moreover the trust required to willingly put one's life in the hands of another. If there was one thing that struck Mary the most, it was the heart-warming way each soldier spoke about those with which he served. It helped to refresh her appreciation for Daniel's world.

If to Mary, a new amenity seemed to be emerging, it was the virtue of comradery, of one soldier placing the value of the man next to him above everything, even himself. It renewed her faith in humanity, its mortal benevolence and capacity for love.

Despite the fact that, in Mary's heart, she knew nothing could ever eclipse what she and Daniel had together, Mary nurtured a faith in the fact that Daniel would benefit from such comradery, such love. And so as Mary's faith was nourished, so was the belief that it would be rewarded.

With the pursuit of defeat being waged against the Munsters as vigorously in the camps as it was on the front line, a victory of sorts was achieved in the hearts of those imprisoned. If love was a word seldom used or acknowledged by men, then for certain volumes could be written accounting for its display in the form of deeds so inspired. As the P.o.W.s helped each other in the struggle to survive at Sennelager, tragically, some were transferred before perishing. They were sent elsewhere to be listed as dying at nearby hospitals or other camps. This was done in an effort to conceal the 'The Black Hole's' true death toll.

It was the middle of December, though, when Mary's and Daniel's faith would be both tested and recompensed. With her husband being listed as 'Missing,' by the army, Daniel's pay had been unfortunately interrupted. As a result, Mary found herself financially unable, even with the help of her mother, to live with the boys on her own. After receiving notice that she had to move out of 10 Hogarth Lane, Mary and the boys were initially devastated, but then put their own concerns within a more selfless context, second to thoughts of their loved one and when would he return.

Daniel could be forgiven, though, if recently he was giving less regard to where he might return, and more to would he return at all? Dire presumptions, however, would be given little chance to linger. On December 17, 1914, the Munsters were ordered again to march to the trains. They were finally bidding Sennelager goodbye.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

### Limburg P.o.W. Camp

Letter writing is the only device for

combining solitude with good company.

Lord Byron

'Dear Steven and David: December 18, 1914.

I hope you are both well during this Christmas season. I am writing to you from our new camp at Limburg, an der Lahn, Germany. After being transferred here from Sennelager, we arrived only yesterday, and we were happy to find our new accommodations better than expected. The greatest improvement in our conditions is something I missed the most; writing to you!

I am allowed to send two letters of two pages and four post cards per month. As I enjoy fulfilling my allotment, I have decided to regularly address one-half of one letter to you. We may be apart in body, but as long as we are able to write to each other, we shall never be apart in spirit. Fortunately, though, there are no restrictions on the number of letters or parcels I may receive from you.

Your mother tells me you are taking very good care of her. Well done to both of you! It pleases me greatly to hear how well you have carried on with the duties I left in your hands. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the way in which you have shouldered and shared the weight of your responsibility. I can assure you my fellow Munsters all agree, it is a testament to the young men you are becoming.

As this is the first chance I have had to bring you up to date on the Battalion's exploits, I trust you will pass along to your mother nothing more than what men should keep to themselves.

First we sailed by ship to France. Upon our arrival we marched to a place where, after a short encampment, we boarded a train. After being transported as far as it could take us, we marched again, this time during both day and night. Although the heat was tremendous, the men, including Sully, sang as they marched.

After being held in reserve, the Munsters were finally ordered into action. Answering the call, the battalion fought heroically, as if the Empire itself rested on every man's valour. Though the gallantry of the men exceeded all expectations, in the end we were vastly outnumbered. It was at this point that many of us, having fought to the last, were taken prisoner. While many were wounded, some have found their final resting place near an orchard where the Munsters' last stand occurred. Please remember them during your bedtime prayers.

You will undoubtedly be happy to hear that, after a heroic fight, our good friend Sully was captured as well. He is here with me now, and he says hello. When you think of us, I want you to be assured that we are being treated well. Before you know it, the war will be over, and we will all be reunited. Please be faithful boys. Though the time we have already spent together is worth a lifetime of happiness, the future remains ours to enjoy.

Until next time, please continue to watch over your mother and your unborn brother or sister. Please write me as soon as he or she arrives.

God Bless you my brave young soldiers,

Your loving father.

P.S. When we are reunited I will explain to you why now more than ever - I am proud to call myself a Royal Munster Fusilier.

~

Located on the River Lahn, the 2nd Munster Fusiliers found the village of Limburg at the centre of a large basin surrounded by rolling mountains. Within a Catholic district of Germany, a history of agriculture was amply supported by a pleasant climate and productive soil conditions. Having marched past the town's medieval St. George Cathedral, the Munsters must have felt fortunate such a place was chosen to consolidate prisoners, most of whom hailed from the Irish countryside.

After arriving at Limburg, Daniel and Sully were nothing less than stunned by their new camp conditions. It was obvious, even at first glance that they far exceeded those they had left.

"Would you look at this," Sully emphatically stated. After opening his new barrack's door inward, he stepped into a newly built bungalow. His expression was one of having just walked into one of the finest hotel rooms in London.

Daniel followed closely as did a small group of other Munster soldiers. As they dispersed into the building, touched the bedding and tested the bunks, the smell of fresh hewn wood filled their senses. The face of each man testified to the glaring contrast between the comfort of their new home and the hardship they left behind.

Here, fine wooden well-ventilated barracks included two large attached rooms, each able to accommodate approximately fifty men. Comfortable beds, two stacked on top of each other, with mattresses made of wood shavings or straw, rested upon sturdy wooden frames. They were all fitted with two blankets.

"And a stove for heat," Private Murphy stated. He slid his hands over the metal chimney pipe as his eyes followed it through the trusses and out the solid-looking roof. Their heating source in the middle of the room would double as a place to prepare their meagre food rations. For now they would be supplied by the camp.

Daniel looked about from the middle of the barrack and saw bunk beds in rows down each side of the structure's exterior walls. Windows were infrequent, but allowed for some natural light. Standing beside the stove, Daniel smiled and sat down at one of the lengthy but solid tables. These, he envisioned, would be used for both eating and gathering socially.

With regard to meals, each prisoner would be apportioned a small amount of food, which could be picked up from the main prison kitchen. They would then prepare it themselves in their bungalow. The menu was posted weekly, and although it was only a slight improvement over Sennelager, the men could combine their rations, thus giving the perception of stretching their resources among the men of each barrack.

Daniel and Sully would soon discover the availability of decent food would be at the top of a surprisingly short list of complaints. If it were not for the parcels they would eventually receive from home, the men would suffer greatly from their captor's dietary allotment.

~

Limburg clock tower

~

Additional features, such as a canteen and an infirmary, were so far above the conditions they left at Sennelager that some were left to wonder why their lot had dramatically improved.

"What did we ever do to deserve this?" Daniel asked Sully.

After seeing the extent of their new home, Sully slowly seated himself at the table across from Daniel. "Maybe it's not what we've done, more what they want us to do!"

Unfortunately, Sully couldn't have been more right.

Not all British Army prisoners were eligible to leave Sennelager. In fact, only the Irish had been transferred to Limburg. When Daniel and Sully arrived, with 1500 soldiers of various Irish regiments, they found approximately 300 Irishmen already imprisoned there. After revelling in their new living conditions, it wasn't long before the new arrivals were informed as to why they were on the receiving end of such special treatment.

"Do you think you'd recognise a bribe if you saw one?" someone stated. A soldier, who had been transferred to Limburg some time ago, had entered the barrack without anyone noticing. Daniel and Sully turned to see a man walking slowly toward them.

"A bribe?" Sully replied.

"Is that what this is all about?" Daniel added.

"It is!" the man said with a heavy Irish accent. "Everything you see here," he said, looking around the room, "has been put in place to accomplish one thing..."

"And that is?" Daniel asked.

"It's all meant to persuade you to join the Irish Brigade!"

Sully looked bewildered. "The Irish Brigade?" he asked. "What's that, I'm afraid to ask?"

After informal introductions, Private Hobson of the Royal Irish Fusiliers sat down at a table next to where Daniel and his fellow mates were informally seated. Those men still browsing the barrack joined Daniel and Sully around the half-dozen tables.

"A man by the name of Sir Roger Casement is trying to recruit an army to fight for Ireland's independence," Hobson began to explain.

The men all looked incredulously at the private, half expecting him to reveal his prank by bursting into laughter.

"You must be joking?" Murphy laughed. Nods of concurrence were evident from several of those standing.

Private Hobson's expression was serious. "I wish I was."

"How does this... Roger who...?" Sully paused before Hobson interjected.

"Roger Casement."

"Sir... Roger," another man piped up.

Sully's expression was one of a non-believer. "How does this Sir Roger Casement intend to do that?"

As soon as Sully asked the question, the answer occurred to Daniel. "With the help of the Germans," he stated, dispassionately.

"The Germans?" several of the men blurted.

As the room was boisterously filled with more questions than answers, Daniel turned and looked at Sully. Puzzled expressions turned serious, as they sat and listened to Private Hobson.

"Casement intends to enlist more than just the Germans, my friend."

"What do you mean?" another soldier asked.

"What I mean is, he intends to recruit you."

"Recruit us... is he mad?" Sully asked. He glanced back and forth from Daniel to Hobson with an incredulous expression.

"Mad or not, he seems determined."

"You've met him, then?" Daniel asked.

"He was here earlier this month."

"So who is this Roger Casement?" Sully asked.

Private Hobson continued with what he had learned about Roger Casement thus far.

Born in 1864 near Dublin, Ireland, Roger Casement was raised in Ulster. While working with a Liverpool shipping company, he became aware of the social inequities intrinsic to trading with nations that supported slave labour. After helping to lead a campaign against slavery in the Congo Free State, he was appointed by the British government to carry out an investigation into that country's record on human rights. Public outrage in Britain underscored social causes that followed Casement to Peru and eventually led to him being knighted for his work on behalf of the Amazonian Indians.

After leaving the British Consular Service in 1913, Casement focussed his anti-Imperialist beliefs in a direction familiar to many Irishmen – independence. At the outbreak of the war, he was in the United States attempting to raise money for the Irish Volunteers, a nationalist military organisation he helped establish. The Irish Volunteers were created in response to the formation of the Ulster Volunteers, a Unionist group loyal to preserving their close ties to Britain. The Ulster Volunteers' purpose was to defeat, by arms if necessary, Britain's third Home Rule Bill introduced in 1912.

~

Roger Casement at Limgburg. Picture courtesy of The Graphic

~

The third Home Rule Bill went further than its previous two unsuccessful attempts in relinquishing more political autonomy to Ireland. With its intent to keep Ireland within the United Kingdom, it did not appease nationalists, like Roger Casement, whose goal was to achieve an Irish Independent State. Although England's rule of Ireland was unpopular with many, some were prepared to do anything to preserve it.

At the time three-quarters of Ireland's population were Catholics, who lived primarily in the three southern provinces of the country, Connaught, Leinster and Munster. The northern portion of Ireland was mostly made up of Protestants living in the province of Ulster. Religious differences underscored an economic disparity with a rural economy in the south not benefiting as strongly from the relationship with Britain as the industrial economy of the north. With Dublin being the seat of the proposed Irish Parliament, the north felt their economic prosperity would suffer under a government dominated by a demographic majority whose interests were not aligned with their own. These key factors supported the north's desire to defend their union with Britain, while the rest of Ireland saw little benefit in preserving it.

After passing in the House of Commons on three different occasions, the House of Lords defeated every attempt to bring the Home Rule Bill into law. This led Prime Minister Asquith to use aspects of the Parliament Act, in the spring of 1914, to override the Lords and send the controversial bill for Royal Ascent where it would become law.

As the Ulster Volunteer Army prepared to fight the implementation of home rule for Ireland, units of the British Army stationed at the Curragh found themselves in a conflicting predicament. Ordered to defend the interests of the crown, they made preparations to march on Ulster. The Curragh, in the southern province of Leinster, was Britain's main military base in Ireland. Realizing soldiers of the British Army would be ordered to attack men who were willing to fight to preserve their union with the Empire, the commander of the base, Sir Arthur Paget, offered his men the option to resign rather than fight men who were acting out of loyalty to Britain.

By the time the Curragh Crisis signified to all parties concerned that the British Government would not be able to enforce self-government in Ireland, fifty-seven of Paget's officers resigned before the order was officially issued. With his Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Lord John French, the future Commander in Chief of the B.E.F. and General Henry Wilson's names being added to the list of resignations, Prime Minister Asquith had no option but to back down on his planned implementation of the Act that would give Ireland self-rule.

As tension between opposing sides settled from a boil to a simmer, most British officers were reinstated. Sir John French was made Inspector-General of the Army, a post he occupied until the outbreak of the war, the timing of which couldn't have better suited the British government. Not only did it allow Prime Minister Asquith to put the Home Rule issue on the back burner, its effect on Ireland was one of unification. As if realizing the threat to civilization as a whole was greater than the differences that divided their country, in the time of crisis Ireland united, standing beside Britain under a common cause.

While in New York, Roger Casement met with a high-ranking German diplomat to propose a scheme that would leverage their common interests. At their meeting, Casement negotiated for Germany to provide the Irish Volunteers with both arms and officers to mount a revolt against British interests in Ireland. This would have the effect, he suggested, of drawing resources of the British Army away from its conflict with Germany. In October Casement sailed to Germany for further negotiations. After meeting with officials in Berlin, he left for Limburg with a fervent intention to bolster the ranks of his burgeoning army.

As if frustrated by the discussion, Private Murphy got up from his chair. "Look... there's not an Irishman among us that doesn't want an independent Ireland..."

"But not like this," Sully interjected. "This would be tantamount to... to..."

"Treason!" Daniel stated.

Private Hobson remained the object of everyone's attention. To a man their expressions were unbelieving. It was hard to imagine their ordeal taking another arduous turn.

"When is the recruitment set to begin?" Daniel asked.

Hobson squinted several times, as if compulsively. "It already has." The dark-haired Private leaned back. A flurry of questions went unanswered, as Hobson got up from his seat. "Why don't I introduce you to our Father Crotty? We could do that in the morning," he said.

"Is he an Irishman?" Private Murphy asked.

By this time a few more men had joined the group.

"He is... and a good one too. He was sent to us from Rome sometime in late November."

Daniel seemed impressed. "From Rome!"

"There is a second Priest. His name is Father O'Gorman. I'm sure you'll be meeting them both." Before Private Hobson could finish his sentence an armed German guard came through the door.

In broken English, he quickly ordered the men to choose a bunk for the night. He then shouted to a fellow guard standing at the entrance. A further number of prisoners entered the barrack and were more than happy to cooperate by filling the remaining beds.

"Lights out at 8," he shouted. The stern-looking man took several demonstrative steps before closing the door behind him. The men stared at the door and heard something unnerving. It was the sound of being locked in.

After spending their first night in their new barrack, the men were awoken from an uncommon restful sleep. They were told by another guard to fall in and prepare for a meeting with the camp Commandant. It would take place in fifteen minutes. With little more than a few gulps of acorn coffee, the men trudged out of their heated barrack and walked out to an open yard. There was a slight dusting of snow on the ground. Those who had managed to hold onto their Greatcoats turned up their collars. Others walked sombrely, with draped blankets providing their only warmth from the near freezing morning temperature.

As German officers directed them to assemble, they subconsciously organised themselves into makeshift companies. The men shivered, as some instinctively marched slowly on the spot. Spontaneous coughs and shrugs accompanied the uncharacteristic rhythm. Fortunately though, the men's attention was quickly drawn to the building in front of them.

As its door opened, the German guards sharply saluted. Within seconds, a high-ranking German officer appeared. He strode confidently out of the camp's main office and onto a covered landing area of wooden decking. He looked out over the men, glancing back and forth, from left to right, as he lightly snapped something resembling a riding crop into his leather-gloved hands.

He was an officer who obviously took pride in his appearance. His uniform was as crisp and well fitting, as were his tall shiny parade boots. Then with the self-assurance befitting an experienced officer, he addressed the soldiers:

"Irish prisoners of Limburg," he announced in a loud voice. His English was reasonable but spoken with a heavy Prussian accent.

"In the name of Kaiser Wilhelm the II, I welcome you to Limburg. My name is Major-General Exner, and I am the Commandant of this camp."

The men in front of him looked on quietly, but returned the same air of conviction that was emanating from the General.

"I want to first assure you all that, during your stay here, every captive will be treated with the same level of respect he has for his captor. Those of you who appreciate the value of what every man contributes to the civilized world will be rewarded with dignity. With order and adherence to rules, your time here will pass quickly. With unrest and resistance, I can promise you, the minutes will pass like hours and the days will seem like weeks."

"You may have already observed that your accommodation here is much better than your last. This is not a coincidence. You have been segregated from the rest of the British prisoners so that you may receive better treatment, better food and better clothing. You may not fully understand it yet, but we have more in common than you realize."

"Men," the General paused for a moment, "we are all soldiers... we are all Christians. You have fought valiantly for your Empire's purpose, and we salute your valour. I would now suggest that you consider fighting for your own interests... your country's interests."

"In a few moments, my officers will direct you in order that you hear the words of your own Irish Catholic Priests. They too will help you understand our common goals... our common values."

"This war will not last forever," he stated loudly before looking to his left and then right. "If you value being reunited with your families, I ask that you to heed this warning: Do not try to escape from this camp! For those of you who seek freedom beyond these fences, I say only one of two fates await you: either you will be recaptured... and dealt with harshly... or you will find yourself back in the trenches, fighting on the front lines. There, you will be forced to suffer through conditions far worse than this... until you die!"

"Irish prisoners... listen to my words," he shouted. "The war for you is over. So let us live it out together... here... in peace."

"Again, on behalf of our Kaiser, with your cooperation I know we will accomplish great things together."

With his conclusion, the Commandant clicked his heels together and gave respectful nod before turning to leave the men to his subordinates' direction.

Sully looked at Daniel. "Our Kaiser," he said, with utter disgust. "He'll soon see an Irishman's loyalty is not for sale."

While walking slowly in the direction of where the German officers were herding them, Daniel and Sully's group talked quietly. Private Murphy was of a similar mind as Sully. "If they think we're going to fight for the Kaiser, they've got another thing coming."

Private Massey agreed. "Who in their right mind would do such a thing... fight for an enemy that had just killed some of his mates?"

"What do you say, Danny?" Sully asked, as they walked. "We're as much English as we are Irish."

"Someone should explain to Casement that we've taken an oath."

"He's not a soldier," Private Hobson suggested, joining the group. "He thinks patriotism should crown one's allegiance."

Daniel and Sully looked at Hobson before the group found themselves squeezing into the camp's small chapel. While as many men were left standing, Daniel and Sully joined those seated, finding the last openings on the makeshift pews. A priest waited for the men to calm themselves. He stood patiently near the small altar at the front. The presence of a German officer, several paces away on his right, caused Daniel to wonder if the priest's words would be scripted by the Commandant.

~

Roman Catholic Choir, Giessen Camp. Father Crotty centre. Picture courtesy of Adrian Foley, great grandson of Sergeant Foley, seated second from the right.

~

"Alright, lads, shall we begin?" the Priest suggested. Only a few moments passed before the men all adopted a respectful demeanour.

"Thank you for coming. My name is Father Crotty. I will be one of two Catholic Priests who will be tending to your Christian needs during your stay here at Limburg."

Sully looked over at Daniel and nodded his head in the Priest's direction. Father Crotty was a pleasant looking man, one you might naturally be given to trust. What small amount of hair that topped his head was white, reinforcing, for the casual observer, that the years he had already experienced outnumbered those he had left. His stout but solid frame seemed to suit him, at least as naturally as one could imagine the Bible's words emanating from his mouth. And although Father Crotty's brief introduction had not yet concluded, Daniel instantly recognised something reassuring, the spirit of God in the priest standing before him.

"I have come to you directly from Rome, and I have been made available to you by the Vatican for an indefinite period of time."

Father was at ease in front of the men, glancing to the left, and then to the right. "If anyone is interested in knowing... just in case my enunciation of the Lord's word is not taken as proof enough, I am proud to tell you that I was born in New Ross, which is, of course, near to Waterford. I should add, though, that I was raised the youngest of eleven children in Kilkenny."

Father Crotty paused a moment to acknowledge a few howls from supporters of that city's beer-making tradition.

"Yes," he continued, with a rolling chuckle. "And I have been with the Dominican Order for the better part of thirty years. So when I was asked to come here to be with you I thought I'd seen and heard almost everything there was to... well, see and hear."

The men laughed with Father Crotty, as he glanced to his right. The stern look on the German officer's face spoke for his ability to understand the nuances of the English language.

"Is it possible you were wrong on that one, Father?" Sully hollered from the crowd.

A light-hearted laughter was heard, as the German officer looked sternly in the direction of the impertinent voice.

Father Crotty leaned forward slightly, as if to confide something to the men.

"The Lord never ceases to test us, does He?" he said, with a smile.

Just then the German officer cleared his throat and leered at Father Crotty. It was obviously an attempt to get the meeting back on track.

"Yes, yes," Father acquiesced, glancing from the officer back to the men. "As for the reason for our gathering today, I should tell you that following this brief introduction we will be celebrating Mass this Friday morning, but before we begin our celebration there is a matter of some importance to which I have been asked to lend the weight, so to speak, of my ministry. When that request was made of me, my response was of course, Faith and I will!" Father Crotty stated, with conviction.

"Men of Galway, Clare and Connaught," he announced, sternly. "The German Emperor wants you to go and fight on his side, and some people have been telling you that it is a proper thing for you to do. And I have been asked to tell you the same."

As Father Crotty continued, his voice rose with a characteristic enthusiasm.

"But I have been sent to you by his Holiness the Pope, not to talk politics to you or mislead you, or to be the procurer of any King or Kaiser on earth, but to tell you in the name of God and of the Holly Church what is good and right for men to do. As a Priest of God I am here to tell you that it is your duty as good Catholics to keep the oath you have taken to be loyal to your King."

As spontaneous cheers erupted from the men, Father Crotty stood upright with a sense of pride and conviction. Being a man who was not afraid to speak his mind, he was not only leveraging the one real opportunity to endear himself to the men, but he also knew their spiritual relationship would forever be defined by this moment. And judging by the reaction of the men, he smiled and nodded, with concurring enthusiasm.

The German officer, however, was not pleased at all.

"The Commandant will hear about this!" he emphatically stated, before storming down the centre aisle, and out of the chapel.

"Alright then," Father Crotty stated loudly. "With that..." he conspicuously cleared his throat, "being dealt with, the Mass will now begin. Would everyone please stand?"

To a man, they stood tall and smiled. In doing so, Daniel could feel his respect for Father Crotty soar. Though their chapel was simple and small, it seemed to be filled with everything good and decent.

As the war's first Christmas approached, recruitment into the Irish Brigade was not going well. So much so that, after only a few malcontents joined the ranks, those remaining loyal to the Crown were put on a severe and punitive ration. Even though this was done to heighten the disparity between those willing to cooperate and those resisting recruitment, the vast majority remained stewards of both integrity and, as Father Crotty suggested, their oath of allegiance.

Though the men struggled, again, to exist on bread and water, they were not left entirely wanting for seasonal inspiration. After working beyond the camp's fences felling timber for additional barracks, Sully managed to smuggle a small Christmas tree into their bungalow.

A modest cheer was raised when he pulled it from under his Greatcoat.

"We'll be needin' some decorations, lads!" he exclaimed.

As Daniel pulled a coloured thread from his blanket and Hobson pulled what buttons were superfluous to the proper function of a uniform, the men found in their imaginations the spirit of what the season represented.

"What now?" Hobson asked, after gazing upon the fledgling spectacle.

"Does anyone know the words to a carol?" Private Massey wondered aloud.

"How about Silent Night?" Sully suggested. "Come on, boys, they haven't taken everything from us!"

While Daniel watched his mates move closer to the tree, they began slowly and softly:

~

Silent night, holy night

All is calm, all is bright

Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child

~

And with those words, their voices were carried across everything that separated them from their loved ones back home. Over hills and valleys, lakes and streams, like the stars above, their voices endured. Defying both the lines that divided countries, and the threshold, which partitioned one army from another, above all of it, the sentiment of the season could be heard.

In the trenches near Armentieres, France, some 20 kms south of Ypres, near the French/Belgian border, the 2nd battalion of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers had fashioned a large banner that simply read: Merry Christmas. After hoisting it above the parapet, it wasn't long before they heard their German counterparts singing the same hymn.

~

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,

Hirten erst kundgemacht

Durch der Engel Halleluja

~

In early December, Pope Benedict XV made a request to all nations involved in the unfolding conflict to: 'cease the clang of arms while Christendom celebrates the Feast of the World's Redemption.' And so when the hour came, the prayers of His Holiness were answered.

Soon candles flickered above the German trenches. They dotted the line both north and south. Then, incredibly, one man appeared from his dugout, and then another. From opposing sides, a growing number of soldiers met in the middle of No-Man's Land; many of whom knew full well this would be their last Christmas. Handshakes were offered and even gifts were exchanged before respectful salutes were their final offering. When they returned to their respective trenches, the singing continued:

~

Silent night, holy night

Son of God, love's pure light

~

And again, their voices were carried above the battle's front line and beyond its supporting trenches. Lyrically, with wounded passengers on a train, the blessed notes headed north. Then onto a hospital ship, the tune crossed the channel, before finding its way down the old Father Thames. And through the halls, and wards of the Fulham Hospital, they echoed again, all the way into Ellen and Patrick's home where they were joined by Mary and the boys. Together, they finished the final chorus:

~

Radiant beams from Thy holy face

With the dawn of redeeming grace

Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth

Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.

~

Each of them looked at each other. In a home on Sutherland Road, in the trenches near Armentieres, and in Daniel and Sully's barrack, everyone wondered if they would they would ever see their loved ones again.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

### Casement returns to Limburg

Earth changes, but thy soul

and God stand sure.

E.B. Browning

"That must be him," Sully stated, staring toward the front gate. He and Daniel stood at the corner of their barrack, watching with keen interest. It was obvious, even from a distance his uniform bore the subtleties of the standard German field grey. As the new arrival made his way through those who were there to greet him, his green tunic and trousers set him apart. It was January the 5th, 1915, and with the goal of further recruitment, Sir Roger Casement returned to Limburg.

With shamrocks prominently emblazoned on the collar of his newly created uniform, Casement looked every part an emissary from Ireland. He was flanked by several German escorts, acting like a man in his element. They walked slowly toward the Commandant's office. While politely exchanging greetings with camp officials, he could be seen glancing over at a growing crowd of prisoners. Seemingly unable to discriminate between the reception afforded to the famous, and that of the infamous, he waived at his countrymen, presumptuous of the reason for their assembly.

As the word of Casement's arrival spread rapidly throughout the camp, the men collected at various strategic locations. They were eager to get a look at the man whom they had heard so much about.

It seemed fairly evident that Sir Roger Casement was a well-groomed man. His short dark hair with styled beard and moustache topped a tall, but slim stature. With the attire to command his newly anointed brigade, he presented an air of assuredness, a disposition not missed by those who looked on.

"He seems confident," Sully suggested, while leaning on their wood-clad barrack.

"Full of himself, I'd say," Private Hobson responded.

Sergeant Foley came up behind them. "Doesn't look like much of a soldier to me."

A moment of silence passed, as the men looked on at a man who appeared to be nearing fifty years of age. The day was sunny, but cold; the chill was made evident by their visible breath.

"They say he's done some good things for the natives in South America," Daniel reflected.

"Got a soft spot for the downtrodden, have ya'?" Hobson asked, glancing from Daniel back to Casement and his followers. By now, the group had reached the Commandant's office.

Sully smiled, as he looked over in Daniel's direction. A fond memory of Daniel's friendship with Mac flashed through his mind.

"What?" Daniel asked Sully.

"I suppose it's the birthright of the Irish, isn't it?"

Daniel just smiled.

"I suppose there's merit in that," Hobson agreed. "But what he's trying to do here is something altogether different."

"You'll find no dissenters here on that one, Hobber," Daniel stated.

Sully laughed. "Hobber... where did that come from?"

Daniel shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, it just suits him."

"It does, doesn't it?" Sully replied.

Hobson snorted. "Do I have any say in this?"

"No!" both Daniel and Sully answered at the same time.

As Casement neared the Commandant's office, he turned to the two individuals who were known to be his first two enlistees, Corporal Quinlisk and Private Keogh. With the two soldiers perceiving the juncture required a proper salute, they instead awkwardly accepted the handshake of their new superior. The fact that he more closely resembled a political officer than a military one was not lost on the observing Munsters.

After several words to Quinlisk and Keogh, Casement turned and ascended the steps toward the camp's office. Reaching the landing, the German Staff Officer accompanying him snapped to attention. The office door opened. Striding confidently, Major General Exner emerged. Amid pleasantries being exchanged, the two men shook hands and then went inside the building.

Most of the prisoners dispersed after satisfying their sense of intrigue. Feeling the watchful eye of those that did not, Corporal Quinlisk and Private Keogh looked in several directions before loitering near the camp's offices. While conspicuously waiting for their superior's reappearance, they were careful in keeping the distance to their German comrades the lesser of their Irish.

After following the Commandant into his office, Casement seemed pleased to be visiting Limburg for a second time.

"Sir Roger, it is very nice to see you again," General Exner began. Turning his head toward his guest, he adjusted the comfortable looking armchair, angling it in front of his large desk. "Please have a seat," the General offered.

"Thank you, General," Casement responded. Detecting a hint of patronage in the General's voice, Sir Roger, found his chair no less comforting.

"And how was your journey this time?" the General inquired. He smiled, seating himself behind his desk.

Sir Roger crossed his legs. "Pleasant, thank you."

With his elbows on the arms of his stately chair, and his index fingers forming an apex in front of him, the General enquired further. "And your negotiations with my government, have they been successful?"

"They have... it seems, for the moment, our interests have aligned themselves quite favourably." He then reached for the briefcase, which he had set beside his chair. Opening it, he pulled out a document and offered it across the desk to the General.

"Your agreement, I presume?"

"Yes, General. You'll notice the document is dated December 23rd, of just last year. Your government has agreed to support an independent state of Ireland."

The General put on his reading glasses and examined the document without comment.

"It has also agreed to provide arms and ammunition of a quantity and quality capable of supplying a newly formed army."

Casement continued, as the General read on. "And this new army's sole purpose will bring to an end the oppressiveness of its subjugators."

"You are speaking of the British, of course," the General interrupted, peering over the top of his spectacles.

"Our common adversary, General."

General Exner slid the document on to his desk before his reading glasses followed it.

"And this Irish Brigade," the General asked, "you will continue to recruit from the prisoners of my camp?"

"That is my intention, Sir."

"Then if you don't mind me asking... what are your expectations?"

"My expectations?" Sir Roger repeated, "in terms of recruits?"

Casement could detect a palpable level of scepticism on the part of the General.

"Yes, have you any military or related experience in this matter?"

"If you are asking if I have ever been in the military, the answer is no."

The Commandant paused for a moment, as if reflecting on Casement's response.

Sir Roger seemed perplexed, yet defiant. "I don't see why I should weight the relevance of that fact highly."

"You may not, Sir," Exner suggested. "But the men you intend to recruit will."

Sir Roger looked as if he hadn't given the matter much, if any, serious consideration.

"You are obviously a passionate man, Mr. Casement. And I'm sure you will leverage that quality during your recruitment, but passion in a soldier is... how shall I say... an evolved quality."

Sir Roger remained optimistic. "I will endeavour to re-ignite, if you will, the men's passion for their country."

"A man's country is a noble place to invest one's passion," the General suggested.

"I couldn't agree more, General."

"But these men you intend to recruit are not young and impressionable. They are seasoned soldiers."

Casement fidgeted in his seat as he listened to the General.

"Speaking from experience, Roger... may I call you Roger?"

"Of course," Casement agreed. He seemed pleased to listen to the General's thoughts in a less formal atmosphere.

While getting up from his chair, the General turned his cigarette box in the direction of his guest. "No thank you," Casement politely replied. Exner then lit one himself. Following that, his demeanour changed somewhat, as if he were reflecting on his own personal experience.

Exner took a drag from his cigarette. "If I've learned anything over the years, Sir Roger, it is this: if passion is the raw material from which a patriotic soldier is cast, then I suggest to you... the field of battle is the crucible where he is reborn."

"Reborn, Sir?" Sir Roger repeated.

"Yes, Mr. Casement, reborn." Exner glanced at the Kaiser's portrait on the wall then stared at the other. It was Von Moltke the Elder, the legendary Prussian Field Marshall, whose victories ushered in the era of the German Empire. Exner reflected proudly on serving under his command.

"You may not know this but, on the battlefield, loyalty is forged into something few experience... it transcends... above all things..."

"The fear of death?" Casement interjected. "I dare say, General, it seems you are as passionate a man as I."

The General glared at Casement, quickly dismissing his flippant interjection. In that instant, he became aware he had more in common with his prisoners than he did with Casement's idea of what they represented. The General wondered if he had said too much.

The moment, though, was lost on Sir Roger. "With that in mind General, would you have any suggestions as to the way in which I should attempt to recruit my fellow countrymen?"

General Exner's demeanour turned to one befitting a career soldier. Returning to his chair he continued. "Quite frankly, Mr. Casement, I am not in any way optimistic about the entire undertaking."

Casement seemed taken aback for a moment, but he soon recovered. "Though I may not share in your estimate of the situation, you are, of course, entitled to your opinion, Sir!"

"Look Casement, these men are used to adversity," the General stated with a frustrated tone. "They will not succumb easily. Hardship and deprivation are a soldier's constant companions."

Detecting the change in the Commandant's demeanour, and discerning the uncomfortable juncture would be as good as any to end the meeting, Sir Roger got up from his chair. "I can assure you General, it was not my intention to presume too much."

Exner pulled a ledger from his desk drawer, as if he had tired of the subject. "The first to join will be the opportunists," he suggested. "They will be followed by the weak-minded."

Casement looked toward the door, and then back to the Commandant.

"Your personal feelings aside General, may I count on you for assistance?"

The General butted out his cigarette. He seemed somewhat frustrated by being bound by his government, even more by the thought of cheapening his principles. "The full cooperation of this office is at your disposal, Sir."

He picked up his glasses and began to move on to other camp business. It was obvious the meeting was over.

"Thank you, General," Casement said, before walking in the direction of the door. "I'll keep you updated as to the number and names of the recruits."

The Commandant looked up, just as his guest reached the door. "You know, Mr. Casement," he stated, as Sir Roger turned to look in the General's direction. "If any of my men did what you want these Irishmen to do, I would have them shot... for treason."

Without any further comment, Sir Roger Casement left the Commandant's office. Recruitment would commence tomorrow morning.

~ ~ ~

It was mid-afternoon of the same day when Mary finally found some time away from the hospital's relentless demand for compassion. While sitting between boxes of supplies and stacks of clean linen, Mary found time to write another letter to Daniel in the relative quiet of a little used hallway. Having penned several already, this one, she decided, would be different. Starting it this morning, before sunrise, it was intended to chronicle her many activities, during as many junctures of the day as possible. Even the most routine events, those that would otherwise be left wanting for something to distinguish them by, were faithfully recorded.

When you write, Daniel asked, I want to hear about everything back home. No detail is too small. Steven and David's school day was punctuated by their own version accounting for similar intervals. In this letter, they all agreed, Daniel could read each segment with its corresponding hour and imagine again what life was like back home.

Mary had begun to worry about Daniel several letters ago. With the effort to survive becoming the greatest challenge of his life, it appeared as though the perception of his own mortality seemed to be surfacing. It was subtly creeping into each letter, Mary felt, if only between the lines. It worried her that, with every increase in hardship, each increment in deprivation, so would a mounting sense of despondency cause him to look inward. And the further he peered within, the more he would lose sight of the reason for surviving.

"It is two o'clock in the afternoon now," Mary wrote, "and I am spending a few hours again at the Fulham Hospital. I know you will worry about the baby's and my condition, but please be rest assured we are both doing very well. Better, in fact, than if we were confined only to household duties. I think this one will have your pleasant disposition, as I am finding him the easiest to carry. I say him because my suspicions are telling me it is another boy.

I want you to know, I am already very proud of our unborn child. He is like a light shining outward from me, into every corner of this hospital. Everywhere I go, everyone I see asks about him and how he is doing. I like to think the light of his and my souls have joined together, making God's Kingdom in me that much brighter. I am happy to tell you, the miracle of life puts a smile on everyone's face. I hope it does the same for yours.

The hospital is very busy these days. We are full of soldiers who were wounded at a place called Ypres, Belgium, (they pronounce it 'Wipers'). Though we all long for your swift return, I find solace in knowing that you are safe and well in Limburg. Try as I might, my heart is often saddened by what these soldiers have suffered. Through their experience, I am beginning to better appreciate yours. When I look at them I see you - in their every word I hear your voice. With every day that passes, I want you to know I feel my love for you growing stronger.

I am sorry to say the demand for compassion sometimes exceeds even the hospital's ability to provide it. As a result, after volunteering for some time, I have been asked to accept a position. After the baby is born, and when I am willing and able, I have been asked to return to my duties, this time as a Nurse's Assistant. It will only be a modest wage, but with Mother's help minding the children, I hope to be able to make my own contribution to both the war and to raising our growing family.'

Mary suddenly heard someone calling her name.

"Mary! Has anyone seen Mary?" A voice came from around the corner.

"Sorry, luv, but that's enough for now. Someone is calling me. I'll resume this evening." She quickly wrote.

"I'm here, Nurse Chapel," Mary called, raising her voice. She got up from her seat and began to look around the corner, out into the hallway. "I'm over here. Is there something I can do for you?"

The blue and white uniformed nurse stopped quickly, almost bumping into her. "Oh! Sorry, Mary. You startled me." After catching her breath, the elder nurse asked, "have you got a few minutes to spare?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"Another one has just come out of the operating theatre."

"I understand," Mary replied, knowing how she could best help.

Mary tucked her letter into a pocket beneath her hospital apron, as they began to slowly walk together.

"Oh, Mary, do you know how much of a God-send you are?"

"That's kind of you to say so, Nurse Chapel," Mary replied, as their gait became more purposeful.

While walking down the crowded hall, men lined the walls on makeshift beds and stretchers. It seemed, at times, every available space was filled by the war.

"Well, you know as well as I do how much the boys appreciate waking up with someone at their side."

Mary reflected for a moment before responding.

"It's what I would want for my husband, if..." Mary stated, without finishing her sentence.

"I understand," Nurse Chapel suggested. "You needn't say another word."

Mary smiled and then put her hand on the experienced nurse's shoulder. They walked a little further before turning the corner to the recovery room.

~ ~ ~

Having made arrangements with the Commandant, the next day Roger Casement prepared to speak to several groups of Irish soldiers. With each audience being the complement of three barracks all crammed into one, Sir Roger stood patiently outside Daniel's bungalow. The men were given time to settle inside. Waiting with him were two men; the first and second to offer their allegiance to the Irish Brigade.

Standing quietly beside him was his first recruit, Corporal Quinlisk of the distinguished Royal Irish Regiment. After snuffing the butt of a cigarette under his right boot, Quinlisk exchanged a nervous expression with a mate of the same regiment, Private Michael Keogh. Quinlisk was taller than the stockier Keogh.

Flanking Casement on his left and right, they both seemed aware that they lacked the focus of their new leader. Both Qunilisk and Keogh jostled about, as if in a vain attempt at preventing the cold morning air from penetrating their bones. In turn, they each glanced inquisitively at the silent Sir Roger. And although all three now wore the same green Irish Brigade uniform, Casement somehow seemed unaffected by the frigid temperature.

Realizing what was distracting his new commanding officer, Keogh adjusted his peaked cap before speaking up: "Would you like me to see if they're ready, Sir?"

"Yes, of course," Casement stated. He appeared to be emerging from deep thought. He exhaled a visible breath. "We should get started if we can."

"Why don't I have a look, then?" Keogh replied, before ascending the several steps to the barrack's front door.

"Sorry if I seemed absent, Timothy," Sir Roger added, glancing quickly at Corporal Quinlisk. "I've been a bit preoccupied with what I'll say to the men."

"I'm sure they'll be more receptive, this time, Sir," Quinlisk stated.

Casement looked at his fellow recruiter and wished he could be as optimistic. Since his visit on December 6th, enlistment in the Irish Brigade had been abysmal. To date, only Private Keogh and Corporal Quinlisk had declared their allegiance. To Casement, this could only mean one of two things: either he was not being persuasive enough, or he had grossly misunderstood the loyalty of an Irish soldier in the British Army. With feelings now leaning more toward the latter, Casement resolved himself to emulate his fellow Irishmen; like they, he would remain as steadfast. To this end, he would stay at the camp for as long as he felt it was necessary to exhaust the Brigade's recruitment effort.

At a timely moment, the door to the barrack opened.

"They're ready, Sir," Private Keogh stated.

"Very well, let's get on with it, shall we?" Sir Roger said, adding: "If you don't mind Timothy... after you."

Sir Roger Casement then followed his two subordinates into the barrack. What awaited the three men could only be described as intimidating. With the room packed to capacity, a pungency of cigarette smoke filled the dwellingr. The men sat on prearranged chairs facing the entrance from which Casement just entered. Others occupied every available spot to sit and stand. The bunks had been moved to the far end of the room.

As Casement stepped into the bungalow, Keogh and Quinlisk stood, one on each of his sides. In addition, an escort of four armed German soldiers lined up closely behind the Brigade's representatives. After an impromptu display of raucous behaviour, it was clearly evident that if it were not for their German escort, it would have been wise to leave the barrack's door open.

Among the hisses and boos, Corporal Quinlisk shouted loudly in a thick Irish accent, "Alright... alright, give the man a chance to speak."

"We don't want to hear what he's got to say!" someone in the crowd yelled.

Cheers reigned over laughter, as the sound level rose to noisy.

"Do you have the right to speak for everyone here?" Private Keogh shouted.

"Yes!" the man hollered back.

Laughter then overtook the cheers. It was obvious to everyone, the meeting seemed to be on the brink of being out of control.

"How much are they paying you?" another man shouted from the far back.

Verbal jousts went back and forth between Quinlisk, Keogh and the crowd before Casement spoke up.

"How much are they paying me, you ask?" Sir Roger repeated. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the din.

As if surprised by the calmness of Sir Roger's voice, the noise level in the room quickly dropped.

"How much are they paying me?" he asked, again. He then directed a question to a man in the front. "How much are they paying you?"

After being taken aback slightly, the man answered with a chuckle: "Nothing, of course!"

"Nothing?" Casement repeated. "Then I think we are equally indebted to Germany."

"You're doing all this out of the goodness of your heart, then?" Private Hobson asked. He was standing with many others halfway back, next to the stove.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Casement replied.

"Have 'ya come to talk to us in riddles?" an anonymous soldier yelled.

Again a bout of laughter ensued.

"We're but simple Irish soldiers here. You're going to have to speak more plainly," Hobson added, in a raised voice.

"Maybe you could organize your thoughts into a limerick, or something!" Sully suggested to further laughter.

"Alright," Corporal Quinlisk shouted. "That'll be enough of that."

Joining his fellow recruit, Private Keogh then hollered, "If you'll give the man a chance to speak, you'll understand why we're here."

Only moments passed before the men began to settle down again.

"That's all I ask for, men," Casement stated, "is an opportunity to explain why I have come to Limburg."

Sir Roger paused, allowing the men to further settle.

"Thank you," he said, looking out over the men. "Let me get straight to the point. It may have been suggested to you that I am trying to form an Irish Brigade to fight for Germany... that I am acting on behalf of the German government, and that I am here to persuade you to put the interests of Germany ahead of the welfare of our homeland, Ireland."

Murmurs of agreement filled the barrack.

"If so," he suggested, "then let me make myself perfectly clear. This is categorically untrue. I have never been in the employ of the German government. I have never and will never subordinate Ireland's well-being to any nation. And this brigade, which I am forming, is not meant to fight for Germany."

Again, he paused, looking back and forth over the crowd.

"This army is being assembled to fight under a banner of honourable intentions," he continued. "On my own life, I can assure you this Irish Brigade will fight with one cause and one cause only... to win the freedom of Ireland."

With a further interlude the room became quiet with consideration. Then, unexpectedly, the silence was then broken by Sully. "Half of Europe is being overrun by the Germans," he stated loudly. "And you want to... what... take us home to fight the British Army?"

"The fight to evict Ireland's oppressor is a righteous endeavour... and one for which we should all be willing to take up arms," Casement stated with conviction.

"Has it occurred to you that we are British Soldiers?" Pte. Hobson asked.

"Last time I looked, the oppressor was wearing a German uniform, not a British one," Sgt. Foley added.

Again the raucousness of agreement did not fall in Casement's favour. But seeing the advantage falling from his superior, Private Keogh quickly took up the torch.

"Germany has no quarrel with Ireland," he interjected.

"Yeah," Pte. Massey shouted. "They only want to overthrow Britain and France."

"Don't forget Russia and Belgium," Daniel added.

"If it's alright with you, Mr. Casement, I'd rather deal with one oppressor at a time," Sully added.

Hobson spoke up again. "Wouldn't it be better if we had this conversation after we've disposed of the Kaiser?"

The room was filled again with laughter and cheers. Casement turned to Keogh, and then Quinlisk, reflecting an expression of frustration. The meeting was obviously not going as planned. Making his own attempt, Corporal Quinlisk waded in next.

"This is not our war," Quinlisk shouted over the roar. "Germany is Britain's enemy, not Ireland's."

Keogh raised his voice, again. "My Irish ancestors have been fighting England's wars for too long," he shouted loudly. "And so have yours."

The room quieted. Keogh's words seemed to cut close to the bone.

Casement seized the moment. "I have a binding agreement with me," he stated, holding a folded document in the air. "It states that Germany will assist us in our fight. They have pledged to us the equipment and ammunition necessary to arm every Irishman who is willing to fight for the freedom of his country!"

More than a few men in the crowd seemed stirred by Casement's passionate words.

"And isn't the liberty of one's country the noblest reason to take up arms?" Casement asked to a now murmuring audience.

"It is," a voice came from the crowd. "But freedom comes with a price," Daniel said quietly, but confidently.

On hearing, but not seeing the first intelligent response, Casement looked out into the crowd, asking: "Is any price too high?" Sir Roger asked. "To whom am I responding? Would you please stand up?"

A moment of silence passed before Casement asked again.

"Come on, then... we will all benefit from a thoughtful discussion."

Daniel slowly and reluctantly stood up from his chair.

"Is any price too high?" Daniel repeated Casement's question.

Sir Roger nodded. His glare remained on Daniel while awaiting a reply.

"I suppose that would depend on who you are and what you've experienced."

With a look of disappointment in Daniel's murky response, Sir Roger looked at the other men to evoke the answer he was looking for.

"What price are any of you prepared to put on your freedom?" Casement asked, again.

Sergeant Foley spoke up next. "You throw around the word as though it's some sort of lofty idea. It is not as black and white as you make it out to be. Why, there isn't a man in this room that doesn't appreciate the value of freedom.'

"Then come with me. Join us." Sir Roger said, passionately. "You are the living currency of freedom. Don't you understand, Ireland needs you?"

"We're spent," a tired-looking soldier yelled. "We've done our bit for King and Country," another hollered.

Daniel continued, this time more slowly. "It's not always about putting a price on freedom, Mr. Casement. Sometimes it's about recognizing the cost of achieving it. And that toll is tallied in all of these men here."

"And those that will never go home," Pte. Massey quietly added.

Sir Roger stopped trying to find the answer he was looking for and turned back to look at Daniel.

A quiet chorus of: "Here, here," could be heard from various men in the crowd.

"You are all brave men," Sir Roger concurred. "No one can ever deny you that."

Daniel glanced at Massey, quickly interjecting. "Yes, you're absolutely right, Gib. My friend here makes a good point. Isn't giving one's life in the name of another's freedom the most honourable thing a man can do?"

"By any measure, it is," Casement quickly agreed.

"Then do we not dishonour the sacrifice many of our mates have already made, fighting to free Europe?" Daniel paused for a moment, but the floor remained his. "Yes, these men are Irishmen," he admitted. "But they are also soldiers of British regiments who have fought and died alongside English regiments, all in the name of the same cause."

"Well said, Danny boy!" Sully responded.

The Brigade commander seemed impressed. "You appear to be a principled man... may I ask what is your name?" he inquired.

Sergeant Foley quickly spoke up. "Don't give him your name, lad. He's liable to make note of it."

"If you don't want to give me your name, that's alright," Sir Roger answered.

"My name is Daniel."

"Thank you, may I ask you Daniel, where does your loyalty lie, with England or Ireland?"

"If you must know, my true loyalty belongs to neither.

Several of the men, including Casement, were perplexed by Daniel's answer.

"I don't understand," Sir Roger admitted.

'If it's not Ireland or England then who is it... Germany?" Private Keogh interjected. His comments were as snide as the smirk on his face. Corporal Quinlisk was of a similar expression and ready to taunt Daniel further, but Casement denied his indulgence with a raise of his hand.

"My loyalty rests first with these men right here!" Daniel stated honestly.

"And those who are fighting in the trenches!" Pte Massey added.

"Good for you, Gibby!" Sergeant Foley agreed.

It was the first time in the meeting Sir Roger Casement looked as though he didn't know what to say next. Coincidentally, at the same juncture, the joking demeanour of his two accomplices seemed to evaporate.

"You can see by the look on his face that he doesn't get it," Sully added.

Daniel seemed somewhat uncomfortable in the limelight, but continued. "Do you know that every man in this room would gladly give his life in order to save the man next to him?"

Daniel paused, while the quiet room listened. "It's an unspoken oath... a soldier's bond. After that we are soldiers of the British Army... and only after that are we English or Irish, Scottish or Welsh!"

Casement looked as if he was teetering on the threshold of understanding why his mission was destined to fail.

"Once you understand that, you will accept why we don't want to join your Irish Brigade," Daniel concluded.

"Here, here," was the response from many in the crowd. Light-hearted cheers accompanied.

As if self-conscious of the appreciation, Daniel looked side to side before slowly sitting down.

"Well done lad... well done!" were comments offered from several men sitting close enough to tap him on the shoulder. Daniel nodded and smiled modestly.

"I should thank you for your comments, Daniel," Casement stated awkwardly, "But before we finish," he added in a final effort. "It would be remiss of me if I didn't remind you that the Irish Brigade will not be a part of the German Army. You will be fighting as Irish soldiers, under an Irish Flag."

"Who's going to command that army, German Officers?" Sergeant Foley shouted.

"And whose idea was it to cut our bread ration in half," Private Hobson yelled, "yours or the Germans?"

With that comment, the meeting began to descend into an unmanageable affair. After several men near the front began to stand in a confrontational manner, Quinlisk and Keogh stepped in front of Casement to protect him. Then, on a glance and a nod from Casement, the four German soldiers stepped forward. With their rifles, they formed a line of defence in front of the three Brigade members.

As someone yelled, "How can you do this to your fellow countrymen?" Casement and his fellow two recruits cautiously slipped out the door.

In the following months, attempts at recruitment continued. The Germans punished the men's lack of collaboration by restricting their rations. Casement distributed a pamphlet he wrote and published in America titled, "The Crime against Ireland and how the war may right it."

On January 15th, a new and more cooperative Irish American priest replaced Father O'Gorman, Father Crotty's colleague. Father Nicholson's arrival at the camp was coincident with Sir Roger Casement's departure. But with an overlap being the requirement for Casement to ensure they were both reading from the same script, Father Nicholson began his ministry with a Bible in one hand and the Brigade's recruitment register in the other.

These would be difficult months for the men at Limburg. While confinement did not sit well with the Irish, now they could add psychological mistreatment to their struggle. Rooms, which were set up for recruitment purposes, were used to interrogate the men more than anything else.

Most soldiers were reasonably equipped to handle the constant pressure, but others found their defences slowly eroding. Older soldiers, such as Daniel and Sully, together with Father Crotty, did their best to fortify the resistive ability of the younger men. However, with Father Nicholson's ministry came an undermining of their spiritual trust. This became a burden, for some, too difficult to endure.

It wasn't until March 27th that the third recruit joined the ranks of the Irish Brigade. During April, the number reached eight. By this time, Quinlisk and Keogh began lodging in a hotel in the village of Limburg. With the freedom to come and go from the camp as they pleased, they carried side arms to ensure their safety should they find themselves outside the protective perimeter of their German escorts.

By the end of April 1915 recruitment was deemed to being unduly affected by the Senior Irish N.C.O.'s. They had become the camp's most vocal critics. They were transferred to punishment camps along with those who were found, surreptitiously, to have home addresses in England. Fortunately, for Daniel, he was not selected for an eviction. This was frequently carried out with only a few minutes notice, allowing the men only moments to collect their belongings. On both April 29th and May 29th of that same year, four groups of thirteen men were each transferred to the prison camps of Gorlitz, Guben, Lauben and Sprottau.

Finally, with the ranks of the Brigade stagnating, in June 1915, the Brigade members themselves were transferred to Zossen P.o.W. Camp. Quinlisk, Keogh and Dowling, the third recruit, stayed behind to continue their work.

Incredibly, it wasn't until May that the first parcels from home arrived at Limburg. Though many were sent, not all arrived. Those that did were sometimes pilfered of their best items. After being handed out by their captors, they were nothing less than a lifeline tethering the men to the fabric of life back home. As Daniel gladly shared his parcel's contents with those that were not lucky enough to see theirs get through, he was overjoyed to read letters from Mary, Steven and David written some months ago.

Now with the German's perceptions of the validity of the Irish Brigade in question, and the requirement for Limburg's valuable agricultural investment to be tended to, many prisoners left Limburg to work on surrounding farms. Those that were in the general vicinity were serviced by workers parading to and from the camp daily, while others left the camp for a whole season.

Daniel was one of those selected to be transferred to a labour detachment requiring him to live under guard at his place of work. With only one day's notice before leaving, Daniel praised the Lord, when on that same evening he was handed a letter from home.

While lying in his lower bunk, the passage of evening's sunset required Daniel to tilt his freshly opened letter toward the barrack's electric light. This letter had arrived on its own, as if it were bearer of some important news.

As he quickly read through more than one paragraph defying the fact such an occasion was one worth announcing immediately, Mary's first words were about her elder sons. If this alone didn't testify to her level of experience in the matter, the fact that this was her fourth son surely did.

"I'M A FATHER AGAIN!" Daniel yelled.

As his shout reverberated off the barrack's walls, his startled mates barely perceived the infusion of emotion within his voice.

"I'm a father again," he repeated, more quietly this time, as he sat up.

After the moment of shock wore off, hollers of congratulation went up from all corners of the bungalow. If it were a momentous event for Daniel, it was equally as uplifting to men who were in dire need of some heartening news. Jokes abounded with regard to not raising him to be a soldier. One even taunted Daniel by counting the months backwards, only to reassure him with a laugh and warm pat on the back.

With Daniel's mates slowly drifting back to their beds, he looked up and saw Sully standing on the other side of the adjacent bunk. With his hands clasped and his arms out-stretched over the top bunk's blanketed mattress, Sully's expression was one of sincere happiness.

"Congratulations mate. I'm truly happy for you!" he said, quietly.

"Thank you, Sully," Daniel replied. He nodded in appreciation before repeating, "Thanks."

Daniel glanced down at the letter he held in his hands before looking back up at Sully. At that moment Daniel couldn't help feeling a wonderful sense of good fortune. Despite his predicament, he truly felt blessed. While shaking his head slightly in disbelief, he smiled again at his friend.

Of all the men in the barrack that night, only Daniel really knew how much Sully longed to have children of his own. Yet in Sully's eyes, Daniel could feel the genuine absence of any coveting glare.

As Daniel lay back in his bunk and re-read his wonderful news, he honestly felt Sully was the type of friend few men had. And in the soul of a true friend, a friend like Sully, the seed of envy withers and is left wanting for fertile ground.

CHAPTER TWENTY

### The narrative of a war

Our sweetest songs are those

that tell of saddest thought.

P.B. Shelly

"Keep," Ellen began, while trying to tune her voice to her piano. She pressed the fingers of her two hands briskly into the keys, several times, and was frustrated by a dissonant note. Patrick sat across the room in his usual chair. He was reading the Evening News.

"Keep," she continued, in the same chord. "Keep the..." her voice rose, before descending into disappointment. "Oh, Patrick," she lamented. "We must get this piano tuned."

Patrick didn't even look up from his newsprint. "I think it sounds wonderful."

Ellen turned halfway around and looked at her husband. "But I haven't played anything yet!"

The paper crumpled into Patrick's lap. He looked as though he was caught off guard. "Why don't you try a different key?" He said, looking over his reading glasses. "You know I like everything you play."

Patrick glanced upward at Mary, after she appeared in the doorway. She was holding her new baby, and she had just taken a break from helping Steven and David with their studies at the kitchen table.

"Would you like some help, Mum?" Mary offered. Before her mother could reply, Mary placed young Patrick in his grandfather's arms. Patrick Sr. seemed startled at first, but soon fawned over his slumbering grandson. Mary sat down on the piano bench beside her mother, focusing on the lyrics. At the same time, a young Patrick drew a contented expression from his grandfather. When Ellen resumed playing, Patrick Sr. looked up and listened to Mary join her mother in song:

~

They were summoned from the hillside,

They were called in from the glen,

And the country found them ready

At the stirring call for men.

Let no tears add to their hardships

As the soldiers pass along,

And although your heart is breaking,

Make it sing this cheery song:

~

Keep the Home Fires Burning,

While your hearts are yearning.

Though your lads are far away

They dream of home.

There's a silver lining

Through the dark clouds shining,

Turn the dark cloud inside out

Till the boys come home.

~

Overseas there came a pleading,

"Help a nation in distress.

And we gave our glorious laddies -

Honour bade us do no less,

For no gallant son of Britain

To a tyrant's yoke shall bend,

And no Englishman is silent

To the sacred call of "Friend."

~

Keep the Home Fires Burning,

While your hearts are yearning.

Though your lads are far away

They dream of home.

There's a silver lining

Through the dark clouds shining,

Turn the dark cloud inside out

'Til the boys come home.

~

As the song ended, Mary accepted a caress from her mother's hand. "You know, Mum," she said, "you have such a talent."

"You should have been a performer, Gran," Steve agreed, after walking into the room.

Both Mary and Ellen turned and looked at Steve. "Couldn't you just see Gran playing in a music hall?" Mary asked Steve.

Ellen was gracefully modest. "I did play at the odd party. But that was before I met your father." Ellen glanced at her husband with memories of days gone by.

Patrick smiled. "She's always been a star in my eyes."

"You know what?" Mary stated, glancing down at the wheels on the piano. "You've given me an idea!"

Within a week, Mary convinced Ellen to buy another piano; a second-hand one, which Patrick managed to find at an estate sale. At the time, pianos were by far the most popular household instrument. With radio still in its infancy, and music halls a popular source of live entertainment, there were over one-hundred manufacturers of pianos in London alone.

Mary managed to organise several able-bodied soldiers to move the piano to its new home. Ellen and Mary watched as they pushed it back and forth on its wheels, demonstrating its mobility. Then, as it was moved from one ward to the next, Ellen was enlisted into the ranks of the volunteer. With some convincing, she agreed to play at the Fulham Hospital for the recovering soldiers.

Understandably, Mary had by now relegated herself to infrequent visits of the hospital recovery wards. With her new son frequently in tow, her new duties only included joining her mother in song. Soldiers, which congregated around the piano, helped those in bed to carry the tunes of The Old Contemptibles, Laddie in Khaki and even the sometimes-indiscreet Mademoiselle from Armentieres. Your King and Country Wants You was especially popular. It became both a favourite sung by many, and a call that was answered by even more.

Recruitment in Britain peaked after the retreat from Mons. And as news arrived back home of what life was like for a soldier in the Great War, the desire to do what was right supplanted any romantic notion of why one should enlist.

'Pals' battalions became popular. These drew men from local districts, companies and even sports teams, allowing enlistees to both train and enter the fight together. To Cheryl's great disappointment, Lorne joined the 17th Service Battalion of the Middlesex Regiment, commonly known as The Football Battalion. As a former footballer himself, when Lorne heard Arthur Conan Doyle suggest, "If a footballer has strength of limb let them serve and march in the field of battle," the call could not go unanswered. In Janurary of 1915, Lorne enlisted. And while the sun seemed to be setting on the era of the professional soldier, some battalions passed their banner to the ranks of their regimental reserves. The 2nd Royal Munster Fusiliers did exactly that.

In early May of 1915, the 9th, to be exact, the 2nd R.M.F. were marching down a road in France called Rue de Bois. Since coming out of the line on December 22nd, the battalion had experienced a period of relative quiet, relative, that is, to the struggle experienced during outright battle. For in the constructing and maintaining of trenches, excavations, which would otherwise be condemned for their atrocious conditions, there existed a constant toll of attrition.

The stray shot or haphazard shell burst was always accompanied by the ever-vigilant enemy sniper. Such was the case when the battalion's second commander, Major G.J. Ryan, was killed by a stray bullet on January 23rd. He was, in turn, replaced by Lieutenant-Colonel V.G.H. Rickard. In total, 150 men had been lost during various skirmishes before the remainder found themselves brought back up to the strength of 700 non-commissioned men and 26 officers.

They were on the way to the front when they passed a chapel named 'Notre Dame de Seez.' From the Rue de Bois, it was only a short march down Rue de L'Epinette to the front lines. Seizing the opportunity to provide the men with one final blessing before going into battle, Father Gleeson, the battalion's Chaplin, rendered what would become known as 'The Last Absolution of the Munsters.' With the Reverend, the Lieutenant-Colonel and Captain Filgate, the battalion's adjutant, all mounted on horseback, Father Gleeson solemnly absolved the men of their sins.

In front of every company flew the green flag and Irish harp with the word Munster embroidered on it. It is said that, in the silence that preceded the prayer, the standards could be heard fluttering in the breeze. As Company Sergeant-Major Leahy joined in baring his head, he remembered the event as follows:

"On the lonely dark road-side, lit up now and then by flashes from our own or German flares, rose to Heaven the voices of 800 men singing that glorious hymn, Hail, Queen of Heaven. There were no ribald jests or courage buoyed up by alcohol; none of the fanciful pictures which imagination conjures up of soldiers going to a desperate charge. No, there were brave hearts without fear, only hoping that God would bring them through, and if the end came – well it was only a little shortening of the allotted span.

Every man had his rosary beads out, reciting the prayers in response to Father Gleeson, just as if at the Confraternity at home, instead of having to face death in a thousand hideous forces the following morning."

~

'Misereatur Vestri Omnipotens Deus'- The Last General Absolution of the Munsters at Rue de Bois. From a painting by F. Mantania. Courtesy: Schull Books, Ireland

~

And so it was the next morning that, during the charge of battle, the span of far too many was lessened. Of the 19 officers and 370 N.C.O.s that fell that day, it was recorded that Lieutenant-Colonel Rickard followed closely behind 'D' Company only to be killed within fifteen paces of the trench he had just left. Sadly, by May of 1915, the 2nd battalion had lost its third commanding officer.

But as tragedy became the regiment's constant companion, the men of its battalions would not let it define them.

While Daniel laboured under guard on a farm outside of Limburg, his old battalion, the 1st R.M.F., was embroiled in an action that would become a defining moment for both the regiments and nations involved.

Having returned to England from Rangoon, Burma, in January of 1915, the 1st Battalion of the Royal Munster Fusiliers re-embarked in March and joined several other regiments in an Allied attempt to secure the Dardanelles Strait as a sea route, thus allowing convoys to reach Russia. The Dardanelles Strait, like the Bosphorus, is a navigable waterway, which connects the Mediterranean with the Black Sea. The Ottoman Empire had joined the Central Powers in October of 1914.

Winston Churchill, the First Lord of the Admiralty, presided over the initial naval assault of the Gallipoli Campaign. It proved disastrous from the outset. Several British and French ships were either sunk or severely damaged due to mines that had been laid throughout the narrow channel. Realizing naval power alone would be insufficient, the plan called for an infantry assault, which included the Munster Fusiliers. Daniel's old battalion from India was joined by the 1st Dublin Fusiliers, the Royal Hampshires as well as regiments from both Australia and New Zealand.

The 1st R.M.F. began to land on 'V' Beach on the 25th of April. When the SS River Clyde was run ashore, a delay between the pre-invasion naval bombardment and the actual landing allowed Turkish forces to re-establish their defensive positions. As a result, the Munsters disembarked into a torrent of enemy machine gun-fire. Those who made it ashore made little progress, finding scant protection within the beach's sand dunes.

In the following days heroic advances were made, however the Turkish armies defended their soil with unexpected tenacity. The Allied forces managed to dig in, but the terrain and climate proved as much an adversary as the enemy. As the days turned into weeks, and thus into months, during the onset of winter, gale-like storms swept the Allied positions, compounding the misery every soldier courageously endured. During the suffering, many died from simple exposure and frostbite.

In the end, the Battle of Gallipoli was a terrible loss for the Allies, especially the 1st R.M.F. Having landed with 28 officers and 1002 other ranks, the battalion was reduced, at one point, to a combined total numbering less than 400. For a second time, the once glorious regiment was at a loss for its best-trained and most experienced men.

For the Australian and the New Zealand forces, the losses were so significant they gave birth to a national tragedy. The 25th of April would become a national day of memorial for both nations.

The political fall-out at home in Britain caused Prime Minister Asquith to form a coalition government with the Conservatives. Churchill was also demoted from the position of First Lord of the Admiralty.

With the remainder of the 1st R.M.F. leaving the Dardenelles the same way they arrived, on the SS River Clyde, they first sailed for Alexandria before being redeployed to the Western Front. For some, it would only be a matter of time before they joined the ranks of the P.o.W. and, as it was for many other Irish, another duration before they would find themselves within the fences of Limburg.

By now, several months had already passed when Daniel was reunited with his mates at Limburg. Not surprisingly, upon his return in October of 1915, he found the camp had grown. There were more fences, more barracks and more prisoners than when he left. Though the fences and barracks were ostensibly more of the same, it seemed the soldiers were different. Yes, they had proven themselves on the battlefield as valiantly as any other, and therefore in every sense of the word they were true soldiers, but despite these undeniable facts, soldiering alone did not define them. They were not, as Daniel and Sully were, professional soldiers before the war.

~

Camp bungalows

~

With tales from the Front being acknowledged in their own right, what these new men brought with them was a variety of experience in careers led prior to the war. Before enlisting, these volunteer soldiers were professional mechanics, labourers, teachers as well as craftsmen of every variety. But most importantly, what they carried with them through the gates of Limburg was a knowledge they could pass onto the other prisoners.

With the Commandant's approval, requests were made for the tools and materials needed to convert theoretical instruction into practical experience. In letters to Camp Help Committees back home, appeals were made to improve the prisoners' lives beyond the much-appreciated parcels they were already receiving. Relief organizations responded by donating, among other things, musical instruments that were, by this point in the war, at a loss for the musicians to play them.

When Daniel returned the camp, he was fortunate to find an available bunk in his old barrack. Sully had been working outside the camp as well, but on a daily detail.

As summer transitioned into fall and thus into winter, time passed more slowly. The days were shorter, and the nights were longer. And with less work to go around, it was especially difficult for those who loathed inactivity.

As Daniel settled back in to his old bunk, a resumption of the indoor season allowed everyone to resume old friendships as well as start new ones. For Sully, one such new acquaintance was furthered with the arrival of an intriguing package. After placing the large paper-covered rectangle on his upper bunk, the man, known only as Peter, started to open it.

While sitting in his bunk, Sully put down the book he had been reading and walked over to the relative newcomer. Peter had been in the camp for some time, but new to Daniel and Sully's barrack.

Sully glanced between Peter and the package. "Do you know what it is?"

"I do," Peter admitted, as he tore off the remaining brown paper.

A small-sized suitcase appeared.

"It's... what?" Sully stated, comically.

After opening the case, Peter looked at Sully and smiled. "It's a violin," he announced.

While lifting the instrument out of its case, he looked it over with the intensity of an appraiser's eye. Then, from the violin case, Peter pulled a bow.

Sully was enthralled. "Play something for us, will you?"

Without a word, Peter looked at Sully. He began plucking one string, and then another. While turning the pegs of its fragile neck, he methodically tuned the instrument. Though several others from the barrack came over to get a look, Peter seemed to be oblivious. He entered a world all of his own.

Finally, as he slowly completed a scale through 'C', he readjusted the stringed instrument with his left hand, nudging it under his chin. Then with his right, he held the bow gently and began to play.

Peter closed his eyes, as Sully's opened wide. Daniel was the first to get up from his bunk. As if spiritually inspired, the notes seemed to tug at each of the men's souls. Several, including Daniel, walked closer. Each seemed oblivious of the other, testifying to the fact that it had been far too long since music graced their ears.

But, as the men crept closer, Peter could sense their presence, he could feel their glare.

Abruptly, he stopped.

"No, no, no!" Sully said quickly. "Please keep playing."

"Yes, please do," Daniel added, politely.

Peter looked about and saw several men nodding their heads in agreement.

"It's just," Peter began before pausing, "It feels like... it's been a lifetime."

"It doesn't sound like it," Sully suggested.

Peter laughed. "I should practice some, I suppose."

Sully was in complete agreement, if it meant Peter would continue.

"Alright... everyone stand back," Sully emphatically stated. "Let's give the man some room," he ordered, stretching out his arms to assist his verbal instruction.

As the following days passed, their evenings were punctuated by Peter playing the violin during the after-supper hours. Since arriving at Limburg, it seemed the men were never as content as when they were listening to Peter's melodic journeys. They were not, by their own admission, lovers of classical music, but with each solo performance their appreciation for the formal style grew.

It didn't take long for the men to realize that Peter had been a music teacher in his former life. Sully was, of course, the first to ask for lessons. And as if he possessed the imagination to conjure the sound Sully would make, Daniel was the first to cringe.

Another week passed, with Peter's renditions of heaven being followed by Sully's version of the strings from hell. The men's souls were elevated and elated, then beaten down and left wanting to be put out of their misery. Even Sully began to admit the spirit of music resounded more harmoniously in some than others.

It was one week from Christmas when Peter was looking over some sheet music, which the instrument's donor had included in the case.

Abruptly, the barrack door opened. A German guard walked in.

He looked around the room at the men and then demanded: "Who has been playing the music?" His rough English was thickly accented.

Several moments passed as the men glanced back and forth at each other.

"What do you mean by music?" Sully firmly responded.

"Just answer the question!"

But before the next rebuttal could be hurled, Peter admitted it was he.

"Come with me, then!" the soldier stated. He waved his hand, motioning for Peter to come along with him.

"Wait just a minute," Sully spoke up again. "What's this all about?"

As Peter walked toward the soldier, the German's demeanour softened. "It is nothing serious. The Commandant wants to see him."

Peter was taken aback. "He wants to see me?"

The guard glanced at Peter then looked at Sully, saying: "You don't have to worry. I will bring him right back."

After Peter left, several minutes turned into fifteen before a half hour turned into an hour. In the end, nearly an hour and a half passed before Peter finally walked through the barrack's door. Immediately, Sully and Daniel jumped up to greet their new friend.

"What happened?" Sully quickly asked.

"We talked about music," Peter answered, matter-of-factly.

"You talked about music?" Sully repeated.

"Yes, he seems to like Wagner, and Tchaikovsky."

Sully looked at Daniel. "Tchaikovsky," he jested, "wasn't he Russian?"

"Who would've thought?" Daniel agreed.

As if testifying to his meeting's success, Peter smiled before pulling out some sheet music that Exner had given him. Daniel and Sully stared at him. After taking out his violin, Peter sat down to go over the new piece. As he played a few notes, he continued nonchalantly. "He's in favour of putting on concerts."

Daniel and Sully looked somewhat bemused by their friend's ability to take the whole matter in stride.

Daniel smiled at Sully. "Concerts?" he repeated, nodding.

Peter continued, starting and stopping, at different intervals. "If we can come up with some more instruments, that is," he added.

Sully looked as if an idea just blossomed in his mind.

"More instruments! A concert!" he stated, with a smile. 'Why, wouldn't that be a treat?"

As Peter tried several times to get the more complicated parts of the piece of music correct, a late version of the camp's Royal Mail arrived. It must have been backlogged by the camp censor because, while some men received one or two loose envelopes, others, like Daniel, were due to receive a small string-bound bundles.

"Donoghue!" he yelled, holding up a cluster.

"Over here," Daniel responded.

"O'Flaherty?" he continued.

"Aren't you lucky," Sully quipped, as Daniel lay back in his bunk to open the first of his letters.

"Nothing for Sullivan," Sully asked. The mailman shook his head.

"She never writes," Sully sighed.

"A special girl, Sully?" Peter asked, while playing.

"I wish," Sully lamented. "No, I was talking about my sister back home in London. By the way, Peter," he added, changing the subject. "What's the name of the song you got from the Commandant?"

"It's called, "None But the Lonely Hearts." He began his best attempt at the piece. "It's one of Tchaikovsky's."

Every man in the barrack listened closely. Some continued with what they were doing, while others listened from their bunks. Having opened the first envelope, Daniel sat up in his bed and began to read his letter.

"That's beautiful," Sully said quietly. He stood between the rows of bunks and looked on in awe.

Sully was right, the tune was magnificent. As Peter continued playing, some of the men were drawn into the piece, while others were transported far beyond the camp's walls. It pleased Peter a great deal to see the men's faces light up. Contentment was reflected on his own. To be able to take his barrack mates to another time and place underscored the power of music. Suffice it to say, to a man, they were captivated, even distracted... distracted from what was wrong. Not with Peter, or the tune, but with Daniel.

As Daniel quietly read his letter, the music played on. So consuming were the hypnotic notes that no one saw the genuine look of distress on Daniel's face.

Wanting to reinforce his own sentiment, Sully suggested, "What' ya think, Danny boy?" Sully then turned to look at his silent friend. Alarmed by his expression, Sully quickly asked: "What's wrong, mate?"

Without a response, Sully walked slowly over to Daniel's bunk. With a voice of concern he asked his distraught friend, "Danny, what's happened?"

Struggling with the words, Daniel's lips trembled. Then after closing his eyes tightly, tears were squeezed from one eye and then the other.

"Danny!" Sully pleaded.

Forcing his lips to say the words he never wanted to speak again, Daniel cried.

"My wee son... has died!"

The music stopped.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

### The elusive breakthrough

And each man stands with his face in the light

of his own drawn sword. Ready to do what he can.

E.B. Browning

With the prospect of spending a second Christmas away from home, 1915 would be remembered as a difficult year for Daniel. Being brought to the depth of human sorrow was challenging enough on its own. But to lose a second son to an early death while living away from home, moreover imprisoned, was almost too much to endure. If the war had cast a shadow over the entire world, the passing of young Patrick caused Daniel see everything through darker eyes.

Compounding his predicament, the lack of daylight hours during the winter months saw the men locked into their barrack at sundown. This meant that Daniel and his mates were confined to their huts for periods in excess of twelve hours a day. Needless to say, the men got on each other's nerves. Quarrels erupted over the most insignificant issues.

While some men looked inward for an even-temperament, as Daniel often did, others were more dependent on external stimuli. Those with an internal compulsion to remain active therefore sensed the four walls round them more acutely. And with a form of 'Cabin Fever' becoming the most common ailment bemoaned, sustained periods of captivity began to manifest itself in every form of anxiety.

~

Limburg Camp Guards

~

'Barbed Wire Disease,' as it was called, proposed mental trauma could be, for some, at least as challenging as being physically confined. Seeing the same people day in, day out; the same room, the same barren landscape undermined even the seed of ambition. It gave rise to a sense of hopelessness, that there was no end in sight from the same old mundane routines. More importantly, though, it nurtured the feeling that the men were powerless to do much, if anything about it. A man's soul was never designed for such an environment, Daniel thought. To lose complete control of one's destiny, he agonised, is to lose a sense of one's self.

Depression was the most common manifestation. The idea that in most places in the world people were going about their business, despite the war, seemed more than a little unfair. While others were allowed to live out their lives with freedom being a taken-for-granted commodity, the conflict's prisoners were forced to live in a box; they couldn't help feeling life was irreversibly passing them by. Time, itself, appeared squandered like a misspent investment. Some men couldn't stop themselves from tearing down every lofty idea or convention. Even God, himself, was not immune. If irritability was the lesser of despair's incarnations, it was the greatest nuisance to all.

Mealtime could become one of the most contentious times of the day. Each prisoner pitched in for the evening meal, having acquired something suitable from his cache of parcels. In addition, the men rotated, each accepting the significant responsibility for preparing some sort of concoction for the most awaited juncture of the day, supper hour.

"We have to add something to the rice," Gilbert stated. "Have we got any butter left?"

"None that I know of, Gibby," Hobson answered. He and Gilbert seemed out of their element, standing at the wood burning stove. The lack of ingredients began to challenge more than their imaginations.

"Well, have you checked, Hobber?" Gilbert chided.

Hobson glanced over to a piece of paper pinned to the wall. "I see it is on the list to draw from the Parcel Office, so I think we'll have to use something else. How about a tin or two of bully?"

"Honestly, Hobber, that's a beastly idea... too overdone."

"Better that than nothing at all," Hobson retorted. He squinted several times.

An idea came to Gilbert. "Why don't we give it a fish flavour by adding a tin of salmon or some shrimp paste?"

"No sorcery this time, Massey," a holler came from one of the bunks.

Gilbert's scowl seemed to be lost among a sea of disgruntlement.

"I'm only the sous-chef, Gibby," Hobson rebutted. "If the lads end up choking on it, it'll be months before we're at the stove again."

Gilbert looked at Hobson. The same idea came to each of them.

"How about both?" Hobson asked.

"I'm sure that'll seal our fate," Gilbert replied.

During the long winter months, Sully was a Godsend to Daniel. Unlike himself, his socially adept friend was an iconic stalwart to everything psychological. It could even be said that, to a neuron, his brain rarely misfired. And while some men went looking for ways to discriminate, and found in Sully an issue with even that, he was, for certain, Daniel's greatest asset and ally.

Both Sully and Daniel made an effort to not talk about the war, although most conversations in the barrack eventually circled around and outflanked even the greatest of efforts. But while the two friends stood in line for the Parcel Office or the Canteen, they preferred to talk of better days, of India, Gibraltar, and of course, home.

The Parcel Office, as it was known, was the location to which all incoming parcels were routed. After they arrived, each parcel (11 pounds maximum weight) had to be opened by a guard in front of the prisoner to whom it was addressed. Food items commonly included tea, cocoa powder, dried eggs, sugar, condensed milk, sardines or herrings, tinned meat roll and tinned pudding. Personal hygiene products may have accounted for tooth powder and brushes, shaving brushes and soap, razors, handkerchiefs, socks, combs, hairbrushes, etc. Keating's Insect Powder was an essential. It was sprinkled on the bed sheets and pillow in order to prevent insect bites while sleeping. Pipes, cigarettes, pencils as well as chess, draughts (checkers), and dominos were also common inclusions.

Any written materials such as magazines, newspapers or books were confiscated, only to be returned after being severely edited of everything that might nurture hope in the Allied war effort. The parcels, and their contents, remained at the German staffed Parcel Office, while each prisoner drew what he needed when the office was open.

The camp Canteen fulfilled an equally important part of prison life. After exchanging their home currency for camp money the prisoners could purchase things they needed in short order. Daniel always felt the exchange rate was as much arbitrary as it was based on any recognised or trusted economic principle. Nevertheless, the Canteen filled the void when the standard mail system seemed insufficient. And their shopkeepers took full advantage of this.

It was an otherwise dull Sunday afternoon when Sully burst through the barrack door. Seeing that his hasty entrance had turned a few heads, he quickly calmed himself so as to not give anything away.

After capturing Daniel's attention, he nodded his head to the left, as if Daniel should join him near the door.

Daniel smiled and made a facial expression, as if to ask, what?

Sully beckoned his friend again, this time almost giving away his attempt to cover any sense of immediacy.

Daniel got up from his bunk and was at first inquisitive, but quickly acquiesced to Sully's desire that he remain nonchalant.

"What is it?" Daniel asked, after joining Sully at the door.

"Listen," Sully began, quietly. He cast a cautious glance between the bunks, down the centre aisle. "I've just come into a bit of news."

"About what?"

"Have you got any money you can lay your hands on?"

Daniel let out a short sight. "What is it this time?"

"Well," he said, glancing over Daniel's shoulder, "I haven't seen them myself, but I've just received word the latest craze has arrived. It's called Satin-tasso!"

"Satin-tasso," Daniel repeated.

"Sshh... keep it down, we don't want to start a rush!"

Daniel lowered his voice. "What is satin-tasso?"

"I don't know, but it has something to do with painting. You know how the canteen-wallah works... it's all shrouded in a bit of mystery."

"Money and mystery don't go together very well, Steven... I mean Sully."

"Aye, but it's the mystery part that's priceless."

Daniel couldn't resist poking fun at his best friend. "Has Murphy got his still up and running again?"

"No!" Sully replied. "And I haven't been drinking. Look, are you going to spot me a few bob or not?"

Daniel remained sceptical. "Sully, do you remember the wood-carving set?"

"Yes, but that was ages ago."

"That was last week. Do you remember the bandages?"

"Yes, but they've all healed. Look," he said, making a display of his hands.

Daniel smiled at his friend. It was times like these that Sully made him feel like a father again. "Alright, follow me."

"Thanks mate, but let's be quiet about it."

After arriving at Daniel's bunk, Sully became concerned when a few fellow barrack mates focused in on what seemed to be the birth of a transaction. Whispers were almost too unnerving.

But just as Daniel was about to place the money in Sully's hand, the bungalow door flew opened. Their attention was instantly drawn to it, but more importantly, to the voice, which bellowed: "Come quick. There's been a delivery at the Canteen!"

Sully panicked. "Here," he shouted, grabbing all the money Daniel had. "I'll pay you back later."

Sully ran for the open door, but before he could put the short distance behind him, a boot suddenly appeared from an adjacent bunk.

"No!" Sully yelled all the way to the hard floor. The impact caused some of his money to scatter from his hand. He grunted at the feeling of several boots substituting his back for the hut's floorboards. As a few of the others picked up some of Sully's coins and beat him out the door, Daniel couldn't help indulging a deep and rare laughter. After fully expensing the moment to his good friend's pride, Daniel went over to help Sully up. "Are you alright?" he offered, continuing to chuckle.

"But your money?" Sully gasped.

"My money?" Daniel repeated. "Did you hit your head on the way down?"

Sully straightened his back, and felt his head for a bump. "I think I did."

"Look, if you pick up what's left, I think you'll be able to buy a slightly used satin-tasso this evening."

"Do you think they'll be bored of it that quickly?"

"How long did it take before they were giving the wood carving sets away?"

Sully seemed to agree. "You're probably right. You should have reminded me of that earlier."

"Would it have done any good?" Daniel asked. Sully's expression was tweaked by a hint of embarrassment. He only shook his head.

After sitting down in their respective bunks, the two friends couldn't help but to laugh off the preceding spectacle. Then Daniel realized what had just occurred. "Thanks, mate," he said.

"For what?" Sully asked.

"For making me feel normal again."

"Then that was money well spent," Sully replied.

Sully lay back in his bunk, and, after a moment of silence, he changed the subject. "I wonder who's on the list for tomorrow?"

He was referring to the interrogation roster, those who would be brought in for an intensive session of recruitment to the Irish Brigade.

"I think I'm due," Daniel admitted. "They had you in last week, did they?"

"They did," Sully replied. "Just do as I did, mate. Don't say a word."

Daniel looked at Sully. "Somehow, I can't imagine you letting them off that easily."

They both laughed.

Last November, Sir Roger Casement sent a new representative to Germany to further the Irish Brigade's recruitment effort. His name was Robert Monteith. Now a dispossessed Dubliner, Monteith was Corporal in the British Army prior to the war. At its outset, he was offered, but declined an officer's posting, deciding instead to retain his rank of Captain in the Irish Volunteers.

Although Monteith's movements were watched by the British authorities, he was granted permission to leave Ireland to travel to the United States. After taking this pre-planned circuitous route, he arrived in November of 1915 and took charge as the Brigade's new Commander at Limburg.

"I've got nothing to say," Sully announced.

While seated in a chair, in the small interrogation room, Monteith partially sat down, resting his weight on the edge of the table. Quinlisk and Bailey, enlistees themselves, stood behind their new commander.

Monteith took a drag of his cigarette. "Your name is Private James Sullivan, is it?" he asked.

"He's the one they call Sully," Bailey piped up. It was obvious he and Quinlisk were frustrated and on edge. To this point, their efforts were not baring much fruit.

"May I, call you Sully, then?" Monteith asked.

"No... it's a term of endearment reserved only for my friends."

Quinlisk lunged forward. "You want to be smart, do you?"

"That's alright, Sergeant," Montheith said, after standing up. He continued to smoke his cigarette and took a couple of paces.

He looked down on Sully. "You know, Private Sullivan, if you would only cooperate, we can provide you with better food, trips into the village, maybe even Berlin. Would you like that?"

"That's alright. Before you know it, I'd be homesick."

Bailey couldn't help himself. "Whether you like or not, Sullivan, we will make Ireland a free state."

Sully glanced around Monteith, at Bailey. "Uhm... Not with my help, you won't!"

As Daniel paced outside the interrogations building, waiting patiently for a young Munster by the name of Collins, the young lad he helped after the action at Etreux. Daniel was worried about him. It took a long time for him to recover in the St. Vinzenz Krankenhaus (Hospital) in Limburg, and even though his wounds had physically healed, life as a P.o.W. had pushed him toward the edge of his endurance.

Suddenly, Daniel caught a glimpse of Collins leaving the bungalow. He took a step in Collins' direction, but he suddenly stopped. His heart sank on seeing Quinlisk with his arm over the young Munster. As if introducing a new Brigade member to other enlistees, they walked out into an open area of the compound. Private Collins could feel the glare coming from Daniel's disappointed eyes. The youngster stared at the ground, then at Daniel. Sorrow defined each of their expressions.

It was obvious the ordeal had been too much for the young soldier. There was no fight left in him. Understandably, Daniel blamed himself for not looking out for him enough. But within his gaze there was no condemnation. Daniel empathized with what the lad had been through. Wounded both physically and emotionally, much of the time half starved to death, it was a wonder that more men didn't succumb, he thought.

Daniel then offered a tepid wave, one that Collins returned. He walked away saddened by the fact that Collins would soon find himself under the ire of the camp's indifference to the Brigade. It was a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone, let alone a troubled young lad.

"You're all cowards, I tell you!" Daniel blurted during his own interrogation.

"Oh, we are, are we Donoghue?" Quinlisk retorted.

A seated Montheith laid his arms on the table. "Look, Donoghue, I'd admit that Collins was an easy target, but he's a grown man... a soldier just like the rest of us."

"I'd take a company of him over a battalion of you blokes. How can you do that to a fellow Irishman?"

Monteith took a drag of his cigarette and tried to move the interview along. "Donoghue... that's a good old Irish name isn't it?"

Daniel would have none of it. "He's just a boy. You know the men will have nothing to do with him now."

Quinlisk smirked, and nodded his head. "We'll take care of him."

"No you won't. He's just another Tommy to you."

Bailey waded in. "That's all we are, mate."

"Maybe to you, Mate!" Daniel barked.

"You think you're better than us, don't you, Donoghue?" Quinlisk chided.

"Look, all I can say is... you'd better follow through on what you promised that boy!"

Quinlisk stepped forward. "Or what?"

"Alright, let's everyone calm down here," Monteith interjected. Quinlisk exchanged a harsh glare with Daniel as Montheith looked over his paperwork. "You're the one who spoke out at the meeting when Casement was here." He looked up at Daniel. "Aren't you?"

"I am."

Montheith sat at the desk and read Daniel's file. "For the record, are you for Ireland's freedom, or not?"

"If that's what they want, then who am I to say they shouldn't have it? That's as far as I go."

"Then you're not prepared to help us achieve it?" Monteith asked.

Danile looked away and shook his head. "It's a dirty business you're involved with."

Monteith got up from his chair. "It may indeed, Donoghue. It may be, indeed. But it's from such business that nations emerge."

In the end, recruitment efforts failed to yield the numbers Casement was looking for. Only 47 men gave in to the pressure; many having succumbed in the way that Collins did. Although much of the coercive process took place before Monteith arrived at the camp, it would be April of 1916 before the entire effort would be put to the test.

It was the 15th of the same month, to be exact, when a cargo vessel set sail from Germany disguised as a Norwegian ship. As it sailed with an easterly heading, its Captain charted a course, giving careful consideration toward avoiding detection. The reason? In its hold were 20,000 rifles, 10 machine guns and enough ammunition to equip a significant fighting force.

Shortly after the Aud Norge departed, it was followed by a German submarine. Its name was the U-19. While it may have included orders to ensure the Norwegian cruiser's safe voyage, its primary concern was for the safe arrival of its own passengers. Their names were Sir Roger Casement, Robert Monteith and Daniel Bailey of the Irish Brigade. The destination of both vessels was the coast of Ireland.

As they sailed for a planned Easter Uprising in Ireland, Roger Casement had lost confidence in his plan. He believed it couldn't be carried to a successful conclusion. Not only did he feel the Germans had supplied weapons of inferior quality and quantity, but he also remained unconvinced his brigade members would actually fight when the time came. Feeling most of the men lacked the necessary conviction to follow it through, in the end Casement chose not to transport all the Brigade's enlistees to Ireland.

Despite this, two weeks previous to his departure, Casement sent a messenger to Ireland with the details of his plan, including where and when the landing would take place. Unfortunately for Sir Roger, the envoy never reached his destination. Whether he was intercepted by the British would remain a mystery of only minor significance as the authorities had already learned of the planned attack. The Royal Navy intercepted a radio transmission from Germany to its American embassy.

Though the Royal Navy did not know the precise coordinates of where the ships would land, on the afternoon of Good Friday, April 21, the Aud Norge was successfully intercepted at sea by the HMS Bluebell. The Aud Norge was the German vessel the Libau, and her crew were, of course, German sailors. Yet before being taken into custody, its Captain, Karl Spindler, gave one last fateful order; to ready a series of explosives, which had been pre-planted on the German freighter. The next day the Libau was successfully scuttled, taking with it all the arms and ammunition intended for the uprising. The Libau's crew, having been removed prior to its sinking, became prisoners of war.

With his mode of transport being more clandestine, the U-19 successfully put Roger Casement and his two accomplices ashore at Banna Strand in Tralee Bay, on Ireland's west coast. After arriving on Irish soil, Casement was still suffering from a persistent illness, which had been lingering since before his departure. Matters were compounded when their small boat capsized before landing.

After an intense struggle to set foot on Irish soil, Casement succumbed to his weakened state, and his journey ended at the village of Ardfert, only 4 kilometres west of where he came ashore. Unable to go any further, he encouraged Bailey and Montheith to leave him at a place called McKenna's Fort. After doing so, they continued onto Tralee without him.

Unfortunately for Casement, he was soon discovered by two Royal Irish Constabulary Officers on patrol. He was arrested after his identity was discovered. Later, he was transported to England and incarcerated in the Tower of London. In the end, Bailey was apprehended as well, but Monteith managed to evade capture. He eventually made a safe escape to America. Bailey turned King's evidence, and, as result of cooperating with authorities, he was returned to serve in the British Army at a later date.

Casement's subsequent trial for treason was widely publicized in both Britain and Ireland. The fact that his treasonous actions were not committed on British soil caused the Crown to argue their case based strangely on an interpretation of the law's grammar. At one point, Casement's trial seemed to hang from the otherwise insignificant value of a comma. Of the many pleading for his clemency, citing his work in the Congo, were Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, W.B. Yeats and George Bernard Shaw. In the end Casement was convicted. After an appeal attempt was rendered unsuccessful, he was hanged at Pentonville Prison, in London, on August 3rd, 1916.

With the Germans now disinterested in the Brigade, the remaining members were eventually moved from Zossen to the camp, Danzig Troyl. While there, some of the men appealed to be restored to regular P.o.W. status. Some were moved again to a punishment camp, one that included hard labour. Most men spent the next two years working in the Danzig camp or German factories and farms.

The Easter Uprising of 1916 in Dublin went ahead without any contribution from Casement's Brigade. And by the time Casement was arrested, the Brigade's expected involvement in the revolt had been fully marginalized. It is no small irony that, in all but a few instances, Casement's efforts only helped to strengthen the Irish P.o.W.'s loyalty to Britain.

With some of the Brigade's enlistee's facing their harshest treatment in the years after being deposed to punishment camps, Keogh reflected in his memoirs by suggesting: "most of them are Irishmen and I am sorry to say it is Irishmen who sent them to that Hell on Earth."

"Do you believe in hell, Daniel?" Private Collins asked.

Sully bumped Collins playfully. "How could he not? We're living it."

They were all standing in their usual formation. They had just completed the first roll call of the day on Wednesday, June the 7th, most of whom were left wondering why they were being held a little longer than usual.

Daniel turned his head left toward Collins. "Why do you ask?"

He could see the young lad, in turn, glance left. Kennedy, a man from the Royal Irish, Monteith's regiment, was sneering at them both.

Collins felt the glare all too deeply. "Kennedy says there's a special place in hell for traitors."

"Don't let him bother you, Johnny," Sully piped up. "It was only a lapse. You've come to your senses now. There'll be nothing more said about it."

Suddenly, there was some movement coming from the Commandant's Office.

Daniel seized the moment to get Collin's attention. "If Kennedy bothers you anymore, you let me know!"

"Achtung!" a voice commanded.

The crowd of several thousand men came to a semi-respectful stance. General Exner emerged from his office and took up his usual position. In the crisp and polished attire of a proud German officer, he looked out over the gathering. The weather was overcast, and a gentle mist could be felt in the air.

"Prisoners of Limburg," he started.

"As it is my periodic custom to bring you announcements pertaining to the war's progress, and how the superior German Army continues to guide the Allies toward the Altar of Defeat, today... this morning, I bring you the news of a great and noble soldier's passing."

Sully sneered. "I guess von Moltke's bit the dust."

"Sometime near the hour of midnight," General Exner continued, "this past Monday, your Secretary of State for War, Lord Herbert Kitchener, was lost at sea."

The gathering instantly drew a breath of disbelief. "No," Daniel gasped.

"That can't be," was the general sentiment.

Murmurs of immediate grief erupted as the General made an effort to continue.

"While in the past," he announced to a quieting crowd. "While in the past I have stood before you, in this very spot, and boasted about great German victories, I can honestly say, it gives me no pleasure in announcing such a momentous loss."

"Quiet," Daniel said. "I want to hear what he has to say."

"I know as the warrior is conditioned to fight, so is he trained to think of his enemy as only an obstacle to victory, a product of an empire whose only goal is to spread evil and intolerance. At one time or another we have all been schooled or have schooled ourselves in the notion that our adversary is something less than human. We all know it makes it easier... to destroy him."

"And while many of your countrymen and women think Germany is a nation defined by a lust for power; that we are devoid of principle... well, on this occasion I submit to you nothing could be further from the truth. Every German holds in high regard the qualities your Secretary of State embodied. The pursuit of excellence, discipline and courage in the face of danger are but a few which, I dare say, define many in this gathering before me. Men, as I have said before, we are all soldiers. So, today let us live like soldiers, true to the principles which defined your Lord Kitchener."

General Exner nodded at the officer in charge.

"Achtung!" he shouted again.

"Soldiers of Limburg. As a sign of respect for your Field Marshal's passing... there will be no work today. Let us all begin this day by saluting a great soldier!"

Upon the salute's completion the men were dismissed.

Tragically, while on his way by sea to North Russia, Lord Herbert Kitchener's cruiser, the HMS Hampshire, was sunk by a mine west of the Orkney Islands. During a force 9 gale, Kitchener and his staff all perished, either by drowning or from exposure. The unfortunate death toll included 643 of the 655 on board. Though his illustrious army career saw him serve in the Sudan, Egypt and India, in the end he would perish at sea, his body never being found.

While his nation mourned, another compliment of his new army, Kitchener's Army, sailed to France ready to do their part in the upcoming Battle of the Somme. General Douglas Haig now commanded the B.E.F., having replaced Sir John French in late December of last year.

The battle was already two weeks old when, during the night of July 14, the 2nd Battalion of the Royal Munster Fusiliers marched toward Contalmaison in the Somme region of France. The village, which was an important objective of the pre-planned British offensive, had been captured by the Black Watch only a few days previous. It had therefore come under bombardment by the Germans in retaliation. As the battalion neared its destination, with every step a familiar sensory tingling was increasingly surpassed by the pungency of poisonous gas vapour. The order to bring the column to a stop did not find the Munsters panicking to don their masks. Instead, with the level of experience they possessed thus far, they knew from this point on their cumbersome gas helmet would dictate the pace at which the rest of the night would unfold.

After going into the line, 'D' company ventured out in a north-easterly direction and slid into a muddy string of isolated shell craters between Contalmaison and the line to which the Germans had retreated. Here the expanse of No-Man's Land was approximately one mile. On the opposing side, and to the Munsters' left, the French village of Pozieres lay in German hands. As planning for the next assault continued, the rest of the Battalion remained near Contalmaison.

On the sixteenth the orders came. The Battalion readied to capture the enemy's first and second lines of defence, this across an expanse of enemy trench that measured no less than 800 yards. An arduous task on its own was compounded by the fact that the area had seen one of the heaviest bombardments the world had known to date.

With the hour of 10:00 p.m. came the call to move forward. Under both a heavy rain and the constant firing of night illuminating German flares, the 2nd Munsters moved up toward the enemy wire via a shallow communication trench known as Black Watch Alley. With the lack of any available reconnaissance, they marched forward, struggling to gain their bearings from ground that had been blown beyond any recognizable feature. Yet before they even reached their planned launching point, the Battalion were peppered, again, with a bombardment of gas shells. Under the weight of their heavy pack, a load, which was intended to sustain them in their newly captured positions, again they struggled to pull on their respirators.

By the time 11:50 p.m. arrived, they were assembled to begin the attack. Having experienced a constant gas shelling for almost the entire 48 hours previous to this point, the Munsters marched forward with exhaustion tempering their enthusiasm.

Four companies advanced over No-Man's Land toward the German's first trench. Fortunately for the Irish, this time the preliminary Allied bombardment had done its job. Enemy resistance was found to be sporadic at best. In some areas the Munsters advanced so quickly that, with the first trench being completely obliterated, the men passed through it without realizing they had just achieved their first objective. The second line in turn was of similar condition and, before the Munsters knew it, they were occupying the German's third trench, one further than the program called for. Second Lieutenants Bennett and Whelan both would receive the Military Cross for leading this courageous effort.

With Poizieres now to the left, it seemed that, if present gains could be leveraged, the village was well within the Battalion's grasp. After attempting to gain permission to attack, Colonel Lyons was instead ordered back to the original objective and to consolidate their success. The Battalion then worked tirelessly throughout that night, struggling to fortify the two lines of enemy trenches won. As it was the case, during this sort of nighttime activity, their picks and spades hacked furiously through obstacles, which sometimes included the entombed remains of those who fought and died during previous actions. Sometime later, the South Wales Borderers began to re-supply the Munsters in their new positions, again using Black Watch Alley.

By 2 a.m., the new Allied line was reformed with the Munsters claiming the German 2nd defensive line as their own; their right flank had been reconnected with the 1st Gloucesters. Though the men took the valuable opportunity to rest, they knew in the back of their minds the trenches they had won would not be given up by the Germans without redress.

During the next night it rained again, this time heavily. Enemy movement seemed consistent with preparations for an imminent attack. After digging trenches to their left, sometime near noon, the Munsters' suspicions were confirmed when the Germans counter attacked with hand-grenades. And, as the clash was defined primarily by hand-to-hand combat, it could be said that, within these depths, more than one soldier found the apex of courage itself. While the important trench junction changed hands more than once during the fierce battle, two men, No. 5130 Sergeant Healey and No. 7850 Private Hannon, were observed exercising bravery beyond the call. They were awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal and the Military Medal respectively. The struggle continued until finally the Munsters' relief arrived sometime near midnight.

Casualties during battle, which were initially thought to be light, in fact were 170 in number. With only a small number of Munsters killed in close quarter combat, it was said the enemy fell under the knife more often than the bullet.

When the Munsters were finally relieved of their newly won positions, they had been in the field for more than one hundred hours. While bombardment had befallen them for almost the entire time, the true tragedy of the Somme was felt by nations such as Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, India and Newfoundland.

Many 'Pals Battalions' from these countries were entirely wiped out, leaving entire communities at a loss for a generation of sons. Lorne's Football Battalion fought valiantly here as well. Tragically, he too was lost in action, his body never being found. Mary was devastated when her friend, Cheryl, moved home to the north of London with her two girls. Daniel took it equally hard, thinking he should have been more insistent about not enlisting.

It would be some time before the public would learn of the Somme's true progress, and even longer before its real costs were fully understood. Information coming out of the war through its English correspondence was strictly controlled by the British government. Articles frequently extolled the virtuous nature of the conflict, where yet to be known losses, however innumerable, were said to have set the cause above all renown.

And so, having come to terms with her own loss, or more aptly put, having found the strength to curtain off the grief her soul would forever carry, Mary managed to resume working at the Fulham Hospital. While reading such articles to her patients one afternoon she recounted the initial stages of the Somme attack.

It was 'The Evening News' Tuesday, July 4th edition where Mary's narration to a wounded soldier continued.

"Never before," she read, "has the world witnessed an artillery barrage of this magnitude. Its sheer scale was truly something to behold. The bombardment's duration coupled with the area on which the British assault was targeted surely testifies to how far the contemptible little army has come in these two years."

"Not so contemptible, were they?" the patient interrupted.

"Fine soldiers, they were," Mary agreed, with a hint of pride.

Mary sat in a chair close to the lad who seemed well on the mend.

"You know you still haven't told me your name," he flirted cautiously.

Mary knew she wasn't allowed to give out her real name, so she quickly changed the subject.

"Did I mention my husband was one of the Old Contemptibles?"

"Ahem, no you didn't, mum."

An awkward moment of silence prevailed before Mary smiled.

"Then might I inquire," he began, before Mary interrupted him.

"He's a prisoner of war in Germany," she quickly interjected.

"I see," the patient offered, somewhat sheepishly. But, to his relief, a distraction arrived in the form fellow soldier hobbling alongside. His left leg was in plaster from the knee down. Without saying anything, the lad handed Mary's patient a fairly large hard covered book.

"What's this?" he asked.

"It's an autograph book," the soldier stated. "You can add something, if you want." The recovering soldier slowly walked away.

After her patient opened the book and flipped through several of its pages, Mary suggested, "It's for patients to sign, if they wish."

At hospitals in England, where the frontline wounded recovered, it was popular for soldiers to sign autograph books. Writing verses or sketching drawings were ways they could show their appreciation for the life sustaining care they received.

"Shall I continue?" Mary asked.

"Please do," he said with a smile. As Mary read, he listened intently while intermittently turning the book's pages.

"The next part is headlined, Night Bombardment."

"Several nights ago I witnessed something few could hitherto imagine. It was a British bombardment of the enemy lines. If the shelling itself wasn't enough to take one's breath away then surely the acoustic effect the barrage produced gave this observer reason to pause. The sky was a darkened backdrop. The breeze was light and from the west. From my elevated perspective I looked out over a wide panoramic of the targeted front. What my eyes beheld my ears struggled to interpret. This Armageddon was, at times, strangely silent."

"I didn't know that was possible," Mary offered, stopping for a moment.

The patient looked up from his book. "That is interesting." While lying in bed, he looked across the room at the opposite wall. He imagined a scene, a darkened distant landscape. Flashes of light appeared here and there. The unfolding spectacle seemed haunting, nearly lacking in sound.

Mary continued:

"It was as if my senses were playing tricks on me. Though I could see our own artillery from my vantage point, and could feel the very air vibrate with each successive round fired, the sound coming from the continuous barrage was anything but predictable. Strange atmospheric properties were undoubtedly at play. I'm certain the wind behind me accounted for something, but the effect left me wondering why one cannon is heard and another is silenced?"

"Sounds rather eerie if you ask me," Mary reflected.

"Yes," the man agreed. "Forgive me for changing the subject, but you know what else is interesting?"

"What?" Mary responded.

"I'd sure like to know who this 'Lady with the Lamp' is!"

Mary smiled. "You've never heard of the Lady of the Lamp?" she asked. "She's quite famous among Nurses." Mary was referring to Florence Nightingale, the founder of modern nursing.

"I should think so. She is mentioned quite often in this book."

Mary gave the matter little thought, and wondered if her patient was ready for a rest.

"And very favourably, I should add."

"Have you had enough reading for now?" she asked.

"No, do go on if there's any more on the bombardment," he suggested, while continuing to scroll through the pages. "Honestly, I am listening," he smiled.

"Alright then," she said, continuing.

"In the distance, the phenomenon seemed stranger still. Using a summer lightning storm as the basis for some understanding, I would ask the reader to imagine an intensity ten-fold. The blackness of night was sometimes entirely displaced by quivering light. It was as much ablaze as I was awestruck. My last sensory perception was one of sympathy. I don't mind admitting, I found myself reflecting on the fate of the souls on which our fury was targeted."

"I say," the patient quietly said.

"What?" Mary inquired.

"Well, sorry for interrupting mum, but I wish I could turn my hand at a drawing as well as this man has. It must be that famous nurse you were talking about because she's holding a lamp."

"May I see?" she asked.

But just as the patient began to turn the book in Mary's direction, something caught his eye. He glanced from the book and back to Mary, only then noticing the resemblance.

"Well I'll be," he paused for a moment. "I think there is a picture of you in this book!" he said, looking at her with a smile. "And you're holding a lamp."

Mary took a look and was startled by the resemblance. The nurse was holding a coach lamp with a candle flickering within. Somewhat embarrassed, she stood up. "If you don't mind, I think that'll be all for now."

Mary folded up her paper and left her patient to his autograph book. But just before Mary left the ward, she turned to him and offered a modest smile.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

### The fog of captivity

He who reigns within himself and rules

his passions, desires, and fears

is more than a King.

John Milton

Although the 1916 Allied offensive failed to realize many of its planned objectives, the Battle of the Somme would remain for the German Army as definitive as the 1st Battle of Ypres was for the British. Before the Somme, Germany still possessed many of its best-trained and most experienced soldiers from its pre-war army. Like their courageous British counterparts at Ypres, many of those professional 'old army' German veterans died in battle defining the same principles of soldiering the B.E.F. displayed at Ypres. If the Somme accomplished anything militarily, the playing field, or more appropriately, the battlefield, had been levelled.

In addition, though a significant breakthrough remained elusive, success was achieved in capturing many artillery-resistant German defences. With the enemy fortifications required to endure a pre-offensive bombardment now in Allied hands, the new German Commanders-in-Chief Hindenburg and Ludendorff realized they could not successfully defend against another offensive without the hardened bunkers lost during the Somme battle.

This, coupled with a concern to lessen their salient-like defensive exposure, they shortened their front by 50 kilometres, choosing the Hindenburg Line as their newly fortified defensive system. Straightening out the line, as it were, also allowed them to reduce their front line strength by many as three divisions.

The retreat to their new position began on the night of February 7th of 1917. In moving their new line further to the east they not only gave up ground that was militarily significant, but, most importantly, they conceded territory which was taken by the Allies without the accompanying casualty rate, which normally defined an advancement of this scale.

Geographically, the area also included objectives, which were pursued with great human sacrifice during the Somme offensive. Bapaume, for example, which was expected to be reached within the first several days of battle, had still not been liberated by the end of fighting in November of 1916. On the Albert-Bapaume Road, it was a distance roughly 15 kilometres from the British front on July 1st, and still 5 kilometres from the new British line eventually achieved in November. Incredibly, this new Hindenburg Line now lay nearly 30 kilometres from the original Somme starting point.

As the winter of 1917 was finally coming to a close on a newly defined section of the Western Front, far behind the German side of the line, Daniel and his fellow mates at Limburg were anticipating their spring work placements. Some of the perks that went along with working outside the compound included the freedom of not being confined within the camp. This, though terribly obvious, bears mentioning since the subtle nuances associated with freedom, however imperceptible, cannot be truly appreciated until they have been lost.

In addition to the spirit raising experience of leaving the 24 hectare Limburg camp, for periods which ranged from one day to an entire farming season, the men were compensated, usually 6d to 10d (pennies) per day for their work. They also received better food and bedding than the camp provided, and a small number actually enjoyed a modest beer allowance.

Under The Hague Convention work was mandatory for all healthy enlisted P.o.W's, while it was voluntary for all non-commissioned officers. Working in war industries such as munitions plants and armament factories as well as near the frontlines was prohibited. Although The Hague clearly defined where and when P.o.W. labour could be used, violations were systemic. Many prisoners were forced to work in and close to German trenches during the time directly after their capture.

Theoretically, when a soldier was captured by a German army group, he became the responsibility of that unit, staying with it in the rear of the German line until transported to a prison camp operated by that same army. It was during the time immediately after capture that many prisoners faced their harshest conditions. Russian prisoners, for example, were widely used during the rapid construction of the Hindenburg Line. It was not uncommon for newly captured prisoners to labour in and around enemy trenches for as many as six weeks, if they survived that long.

While forced to bolster their enemy's defences, new P.o.W.'s sometimes found themselves worked without rest, food or water, sometimes stripped of their boots or useful clothing, and all too often, victims of their own artillery. Those that eventually made it to P.o.W. camps did so with many deficits as a result of their preceding treatment. Also, money they may have possessed would have most likely been taken from them upon capture.

By this point in the war, the food made available to camp prisoners was still of poor quality and quantity to sustain an idle soldier, let alone a working one. It was for this reason that most prisoners desired working outside the camp, especially on farms. As per camp regulations, when they arrived back at the camp, money earned during work placements was taken from prisoners and converted to a camp currency.

With sickness being commonplace at Limburg, the farm work placement was for most men as coveted as a death sentence commuted. Overcrowding in barracks was common for off-season workers and undoubtedly stressful, as a serious illness would preclude many prisoners from working outside the camp. Compounding this fact, men with transmittable diseases, including early and middle stage tuberculosis, were allowed to remain in the general population. For prisoners confined to the camp, this had the effect of making parcels from Prisoner of War Committees back home not only spiritually uplifting but also nothing less than life sustaining.

The early spring of 1917 saw a continuance of Limburg's overpopulation. In addition to its designed capacity of 12,000, prisoners from last year's Somme campaign endured with the others, hoping to be on the roster for this spring's farming detail.

It was late in the month of May when many of the men had already left the camp for their seasonal placements. Daniel and Sully were at first disappointed to be left behind to labour within the camp, however when they found out their misfortune would allow them to attend a ceremony to dedicate a new camp memorial, they realized Providence had not entirely forsaken them. It seemed fitting to be able to officially acknowledge those who had died within the walls of Limburg.

The date had finally arrived. It was Sunday, May 27th, the Feast of Pentecost. And, after being escorted to the camp's cemetery, outside the prison walls, Father Crotty shepherded the men through the Mass celebrating the descent of the Holy Spirit on the Apostles of Christ.

The monument was a three metre-high Celtic cross, which was entirely financed by contributions from the Irish prisoners at a cost of 6000 Marks. Both designed and sculpted in Germany, it stood as a fitting backdrop to Father Crotty's service and the several rows of crosses, which lay before it. With both Christ and St. Peter embossed on the front, a rising sun and a cross, representing hope accompanied other Irish heraldic symbols including the harp on the back.

~

Irish memorial on the right, French memorial on the left

~

Before starting his sermon, Father Crotty took one more look at the majestic monument, which now contained the names of 34 Irishmen.

He then turned around, now fully inspired.

"Soldiers of our Holy Parish of Limburg," he started loudly in his heavy Irish accent.

"'I had prepared a Homily for today's Whit Sunday, but as I have found only once or twice in past experience, it seems the Lord has, again, descended upon me. Much in the same way, I suppose," he stated, smiling, "as it did to the Lord's Disciples so many centuries ago. So if you don't mind bearing with me, I'll do my best to convey a few thoughts which have been on my mind for these past few weeks."

"As you know, we are here to pay our respects to the soldiers' whose names are engraved on this monument behind me. And, as if that alone were not enough to give us pause to reflect, we are also into another season where the battlefield will test our ability to put the war, this tragedy of human suffering, into some sort of perspective."

"My sons, I must admit, my change of heart with regards to this Homily came to me after, how shall I say, an abundance of spiritual concerns were brought to my attention. Now I don't want to make anyone nervous," Father Crotty joked. "I can assure you your individual confessions will not be the subject of this Sermon," he said, smiling. The men chuckled in return. "No, having been given to me in confidence, they will of course remain as such until the good Lord allows me to divulge them." Father Crotty laughed again and looked over his congregation. "I'm sorry," he continued, "I'm just trying to see if I've lost anyone yet?"

Knowing Father Crotty could be counted on to deliver an interesting sermon, the crowd, which exceeded two hundred, laughed along with him.

"I'm sorry, lads," he continued, "I really didn't mean it. No, honestly, if you think I need our Lord's permission for that, you are sadly mistaken."

Further laughter ensued as the men, which were standing in the back, closed in around those seated on benches.

"Seriously though, men... this morning's Sermon is based more on what I have felt for some time are concerns of many minds here today.'

Father Crotty paused and reflected for a moment.

"One thought that seems to be the burden of many a man's reasoning is the question, what are we fighting for? On a more personal level, the inquiries I hear include: under what cause have I been wounded, by what principle have I been imprisoned and most importantly, to what purpose have these men here, and so many others died? The most common phrase that comes to my mind and maybe yours' is... the futility of this war."

"Subsequent to that discussion" Father continued, "many of us have asked the difficult question, what will be the final price of victory? And more importantly, what price should we attach to our freedom? As I stand before you today, I say to you... these are all fair and reasonable questions."

"And the final matter I would like to discuss with you is also of no small consequence. It pertains to what I would call a moral awareness; more commonly known as the feeling of guilt. No, I am not taking about missing my Sunday service. Although if you want to feel guilty about that, you go right ahead!" he said, laughing again.

"No men, I'm talking more about misplaced guilt. I'm sure some of you have experienced it. I'm referring to the gnawing feeling that, while you are within the relative safety of a prisoner-of-war camp, many men are still fighting and dying on the battlefields' frontlines."

"If you would let me deal with this final point first, I would attempt to put it to rest in the most forceful manner, by saying, my sons, you have done enough."

With a sense of appreciation being palpable in the crowd, the words had no sooner come out of Father Crotty's mouth that Sully looked at Daniel. He was smiling as if testifying to the fact that, for some time, his soul was yearning to be consoled.

"Men, I humbly ask, if you will place such stock in me, I say those and these words with the utmost of sincerity. The cup of your duty runneth over. Though this world has poured upon you a torrent of hardship, pain and suffering, your chalice remains filled with resilient virtues. Yes, I say to you, it is no coincidence the effort to recruit you to that ill-conceived Irish Brigade failed; for if there ever was an example of how the impostor of loyalty can be discovered, it was demonstrated by those of you who live by its true and redeeming standard."

"And having lived by your principles, I tell you, not only your countrymen, but the entire human race owes you all a great debt of gratitude. If not for that, then for all of the other banners you have held high together. Faith, integrity and courage are not mere words, men; they are values to which we must all aspire... for they illuminate God in us. Truly, through Him, we are forever connected to those whom we love... I am, of course, speaking now of our families and friends back home."

"Verily, I say unto you, let these words release you from what troubles your mind. You have a greater duty now. Yes, my sons, you must survive this war in order that you be reunited with them in God's love. For He, and I both know... you deserve it!"

"In concluding this point, I would like to quote St. Augustine for you. It is a little long, so I will paraphrase, if you don't mind. He says: 'men are constantly under pressure, for pressure takes place through all the world: War, siege, famine, the worries of state. We all know men who grumble under these pressures and complain. They lack splendour. But there is another sort of man who welcomes splendour. He is under the same pressure, but he does not complain, for it is the friction, which polishes him. It is the pressure which refines him and makes him noble.'

With agreement from all present, again, Sullivan looked at Daniel again and nodded.

"As for the futility of war and what price should we attach to freedom I say this; do not let the failure to achieve victory on the battlefield be the yardstick by which we measure the value of a human life. Be it one or one thousand, or dare I say ten thousand... no soldier dies in vain if he perishes defending his principles. I will not go into who possesses the moral high ground in this conflict, for I know those battle lines are drawn and sometimes redrawn within every man's soul. I would suggest to you, though, that every life laid down coming to the aid of another deserves to be remembered above all others... save for one, of course. In my eyes, having made the supreme sacrifice for others, as Jesus did for us, our departed brothers will live forever in God's Kingdom. Yes, men, I tell you solemnly, deeds carried out in the name of love will never be forgotten... they will be remembered forever."

"Here... here!" could be heard from the crowd as Father Crotty took a deep breath before continuing.

"And though," Father Crotty said, before pausing for the cheers to relent. "And though I dare anyone to diminish the value of that sacrifice in my presence, where there is war, there are those who feel peace should be sought at any price. To them I say freedom should not be bargained for as if its defining principles are individually negotiable. I would likewise make the claim that the columns, which support a free and just society are as inseparable... as you are from its pursuit and its achievement; for you are their human embodiment. Yes, my friends, we all know true liberty is defined by the essentials to human dignity, and that liberty is sometimes purchased at great cost. We also know that cost is being borne courageously by you and your fellow soldiers fighting on the battlefield as I speak."

"But I ask you, do we have any alternative but to continue this great struggle, to see it through to its end? I don't believe there is a man among us who thinks peace is more valuable than freedom, that the auctioning of one principle at a time is a fair trade for peace. We did not enter this war only to tell those that would be subjugated by our common enemy that we can't go on, that we've had enough. No, men, with every life that is laid down so is the value of freedom raised by that sacrifice."

"I say to you, let history record that we tried and failed, but let it not record that we tried and failed ourselves, or worse, our children. The historical events that forged mere mortals into martyrs, I tell you, they, like you, will never be forgotten. For to not honour their and your deeds through remembrance would undermine the value of love itself."

"I like to think that this service today provides us with an opportunity to both reflect on the legacy of the past and look forward to the promise of the future. But as we are called together today to celebrate the decent of the Holy Spirit on Christ's Disciples, let us be inspired by the same mighty wind. And in so doing, let us allow the same spirit to guide us in the coming days, months and years. I ask in the Lord's name, let it instill within us, as it did the Apostles, the same mission, our true responsibility; that is, to take up the eternal flame, the one which has been passed to us by our brethren, in order that it light our way toward a more peaceful future."

"My sons, it would be remiss of me if I didn't take the time to pass along one more thought. In concluding this part of our service, I wish to tell you how fortunate I feel to stand before you today. Having had the privilege to serve the spiritual needs of several parishes in my career, I can honestly say I have never felt so proud of those to whom I have been entrusted to minister." Father Crotty paused for a moment. With the revelation of his true feelings almost getting the better of him, he managed to compose himself before continuing.

"As I stand before you today, my friends, I will forever attest to the fact that you are nothing less than the best example of what humanity has to offer itself. And to that I would humbly add... truly, I am a better man for having known you."

"Thank you, my sons," Father Crotty said, with a cracking voice. Then stepping back from his makeshift lectern, he raised his hands and stated loudly, "Would everyone please stand for the Nicene Creed."

As every man present stood, he was profoundly filled with a sense of perspective. Though their life was predominantly defined by a struggle for survival, Father Crotty's powerful words infused them with a sense of optimism, not only for themselves but for their greater cause.

But if the prisoners of Limburg knew anything, they had learned the wounds that left no mark cut the deepest. For it left those that narrowly escaped death on the battlefield to wonder if it would have been better to have died quickly rather than be forced to endure the slow and agonising process that was imprisonment. In this thought the all-consuming circle of war would be complete, if it were not for the enunciation of one more powerful, one more empowering. This afternoon the tragic circle of war was broken by Father Crotty. For today the men of Limburg found a new resolve, a reason to live, once again, like proud soldiers.

It was later that same month when Daniel found himself residing beside an empty bunk. While sitting quietly by himself, he reread a letter that gave him some reason to be distressed. It wasn't from Mary, though. This time the letter was from her mother. With her own tact and thoughtfulness, Ellen expressed her concern for her daughter's well-being.

"As a result of the hospital's unrelenting demand for compassion," she wrote, "the stress seems to be taking a toll on Mary's health. Her father and I are becoming quite worried for her. In her defence, though," Ellen continued, "Mary suggests, they have done their part for us, now it's time someone do their part for them. I'm afraid there are so many in need and too few to tend to them."

"Many at the hospital consider your wife a living angel, but she is taking on her shoulders more than her share of the load. Though I have tried, I cannot seem to dissuade her from her passion. On behalf of all of us, Daniel, could you please write and ask her not to be so selfless. That, although we are proud of her, we, Steven and David, in particular, need her too."

With the contents of his next letter home already forming in his mind, Daniel readied to begin a difficult letter. As challenging as it was to maintain and connect his thoughts without interruption, it wouldn't be long before this time he was distracted by the sound, and then the sight, of a new barrack mate standing at the end of the empty bunk beside him.

"Oh, hello," Daniel offered. Still troubled by the matter, which preceded the soldier's appearance, Daniel was less than enthused by his arrival.

"I'm Gregg," the private replied. "John Gregg," he said, in his native Irish accent.

"Sorry, mate," Daniel stated, getting up from his bunk. "My name is Donoghue." The two men shook hands.

"Ahah," Sullivan interjected as he walked over to greet the new arrival. "The man with two first names. We have several of those here."

A brief and awkward silence hovered before Sullivan added, "Sorry, old man, I'm Sullivan, but you can call me Sully."

The two shook hands. Sully's smile was only half-heartedly returned.

"Well, let's see... you've met Danny boy," Sullivan continued. "I guess I should mention we have nicknames for everyone here. Make's some of us feel younger, doesn't it Danny?"

"I suppose." Daniel agreed. Then, allowing his mood to be buoyed by the prospect of a new bunkmate, Daniel rose to the occasion. Daniel looked at Private Gregg and lowered his voice. "I didn't think real men were concerned about their age."

John chuckled.

"I heard that," Sully blurted. "I seem to remember you coming up with some of the names," Sully stated, while looking around the barrack. "There's Hobber over there, and there's Gibby and Murph! Well you get the idea. So the question is, Danny Boy, what are we going to call our new friend John Gregg? I'm not sure he's a Johnny? What do you think, Danny?"

Looking as if he was giving the matter some thought, Daniel hadn't opened his mouth before their new arrival offered his own suggestion.

In a confident tone he exclaimed, "You can call me Shaw!"

Sully looked baffled. "Shaw?" he asked.

"Why, Shaw?" Hobber inquired, after joining the small group.

"It's a bit of a long story."

"If you don't mind tellin' it, we wouldn't mind hearin' it," Daniel suggested.

"Lord knows, you've got the time," Sully added.

Daniel sat down on his bunk and suggested Shaw do the same on the vacant bed beside his. "Why don't you sit down... Shaw."

"Don't mind if I do," he said, before stowing his pack and sitting down at the end of his new bunk. Shaw looked somewhat uncomfortable, as if he preferred to dictate the terms of his social interaction. But, after a short pause, he appeared more at ease. "I suppose I should start by telling you what you most likely already know. I was born in Ireland near Ballymena."

"That's in the northern country, isn't it?" Hobson asked.

"It would be, in Ulster, it is." The dark haired man of some thirty years of age continued. "Well, being the young man that I was at the time, one day I took the decision to join the Royal Navy."

Hobson quickly interjected. "You did, or did the Shilling make it for you?" he said, jokingly.

"No lads trust me when I say, I was happy to be on me own."

"Understood," was all Daniel had to say.

"So how did you find yourself a soldier in the British Army?" Sully asked.

"I'm not in the British Army lads. I'm a Canadian soldier," Shaw stated, with a hint of pride. During the process of arriving at the camp, Shaw, like many other prisoners, had much of their regimental subtleties torn from uniforms. They were often taken as souvenirs.

"Canadian?" Hobson asked.

Sully instantly became enthralled. "This is getting better by the moment. Now tell us then, how does an Irishman join the British Navy, become a Canadian soldier and end up in a German P.o.W. camp?"

"Well, I suppose you know the first part. But as for how I enlisted in the Canadian Army? That's another thing all together."

"Go on," Daniel insisted.

Shaw seemed reluctant, but continued. "It was after some five years of service in His Majesty's Navy that I found myself wanting, let's just say, something different than the life of a stoker."

"Five years as a fire stoker," Gibby interjected, after joining the group. "Now there's a job I'd want to get out of."

Shaw looked up at Gibby while rubbing his hands together. "Let's just say I got myself into some trouble now and again."

Daniel and the rest of the group could see that Shaw was made of stuff not easily molded into a model seaman. Hobber and Sully both glanced at Shaw's physique and realized he was a man whose talents might be better utilized in hand-to-hand combat.

"So finding myself with my ship on the west coast of Canada, during a re-supply run, I decided to take what fight I had left from, well... the sea to the land."

"You mean you jumped ship?" Hobson asked.

The reason why Shaw seemed hesitant to tell his story suddenly became clear.

"I won't lie to you. I deserted!" Shaw's head tilted forward with some residual sense of shame.

Sully quickly piped up. "That's it, Danny. Place this man under arrest!"

"But Sully... he's in prison!" Daniel replied.

"Oh, that's right!" Sully agreed. "Well then...in addition to that, I hereby sentence you to an indefinite period where you will be subjected to the antics of Danny and me, the rantings of Hobber, and... and," he said, looking about, "oh yes, and Gibby's endless stove-side political discussions."

Daniel smiled. "Oh, that's harsh?" he stated, before Shaw raised his head. He grinned and began to appreciate the light-heartedness of his new mates.

"No, Shaw," Daniel added. "You'll not find an accuser or a judge here. For who among us has not committed some kind of indiscretion before finding himself in this... this ..."

"I like to think of it as Purgatory," Sully interjected.

"I was going to say... forsaken place," Daniel added.

Hobber announced: "Same thing, old boy,'

"Thanks, lads. I have to say, it's been something that's been bothering me for some time."

"Continue then, will you?" Sully suggested.

"Well, that's where the life of John Gregg Shaw ended and the one of John Gregg began. I enlisted with the 103rd Canadian Infantry Battalion in the summer of '16 in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada. After a bout of training, I was sent cross-country where I sailed from Halifax for England. It was there I was transferred to the 29th Vancouver Battalion."

"It was to France after that?" Hobson asked.

"Yes, Vimy had to be the Battalion's greatest achievement," Shaw stated proudly.

"You were at Vimy?" Daniel asked.

"Yes, we were part of the 2nd Division, 6th Brigade."

"That's where you were taken prisoner?" Hobson asked.

After recalling the unpleasant memory of battle, Shaw stood up. He seemed agitated by recounting the expereince. He rubbed his hands together again, as if compulsively. After a moment or two, his flight instinct subsided. Daniel looked at Sully. "Shaw," Daniel asked. "Have you ever spent time in the ring?"

"I've gone a few rounds, both in and out," he said, now smiling.

Daniel looked at Sully. "That's what I thought."

It had been months since General Exner had suspended the entertainment clubs in the camp. Limburg was not without its escape attempts, and the prisoners paid for their efforts through the removal of privileges, regardless of their success. For some time, the camp orchestra, as well as the choral group had been shut down. The only diversion for many was the camp's Sunday afternoon boxing matches.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

### The war's heavy toll

We trust, sir that God is on our side. It is more

important to know that we are on God's side.

Abraham Lincoln

Sully caught up with Daniel, as he crossed the compound. "Where are you off to?" he asked.

Now striding side-by-side, Daniel replied: "It's Sunday, Sully!"

"Of course, the fights."

A near cloudless summer day had already drawn a big crowd to this morning's Sunday mass, and Daniel expected the afternoon fights to be no different. And while the spring in Sully's step was consistent with being a boxing enthusiast, it was obvious to Daniel that Sully had something more on his mind.

"Did you hear about Private Donovan?" Sully asked.

Daniel continued walking briskly toward the boxing ring. "Which Donovan, Sully? There are as many Donovans here as there are Donoghues."

"He's one of the older Donovans," Sully stated. "He was with us at Etreux."

Daniel slowed to a stop. He turned to Sully. "Is he here?"

"No," Sully replied, smiling, "but, he's alive. Apparently, he was wounded at Passchendale."

Daniel couldn't believe it. "Passchendale?" he repeated. "How is it that he survived for so long?"

"That's not the half of it, mate. Hobber and I ran into a new arrival from the 2nd R.M.F. His name is Madden. He's just a young lad, joined in '16, I think. But he told us what happened to Donovan after Etreux. You'd hardly believe it!"

As Sully related the story, making an effort to repeat the details of the firsthand account, Daniel listened closely, and imagined the tale being told by the young Madden himself.

~ ~ ~

"Well, bein' new to the Battalion an' all, I really didn't know `im," Madden recounted. "I mean... I've seen my fair share of action, but let me tell you, this bloke's story is one worth tellin'!"

"Go on, then," Sully insisted. He and Hobson stood outside Madden's barrack and listened intently.

"Well, I believe it was sometime in the second week of July when the Battalion went into the line. Don't ask me where we were exactly because... well, let's just say, if the regiment put me in charge of the maps..."

"You'd end up marching the column into China," Hobson interjected.

"Exactly!" Madden agreed. "I have to say, we'd taken a heavy shelling before this, so by the time we filed into the trenches we were all sufferin' as a result. Well, after bein' there for only a short time, all of a sudden Fritz takes the decision to rain a torrent of steel upon us. You chaps know what it's like when a man has to take cover in a hole half his size?"

"Well, at one point, doesn't one of the lads down the line from me break out into some sort of fit... as if he's lost all control of `imself. Poor lad, I think we've all been pretty close to that point before, haven't we? Anyhow, as this man is climbing the ladder, he's screaming and waving his hands about. He's throwing off his gear. It's pretty obvious he's had enough of it all, you know what I'm sayin'. I mean, when that shellin' gets to ya, you don't care whether you've made your peace with the Good Lord or not, it's goodbye world and hello to the Almighty! Why I've seen blokes..."

"Madden... Madden," Sully interjected.

"What?"

"We were talking about, Donovan."

"Yeah, we were. I'm comin' to `im. Remember, lads, this is all going on during a heavy shelling."

Madden gave Sully a questionable look before continuing. "Well, I guess the lad must have been twenty or so yards into No Man's Land when doesn't this other bloke jump over our parapet and go after `im."

By now Sully was completely captivated. "So this is Donovan, then?" he asked.

"One of your Old Contemptibles, he was," Madden smartly replied.

Sully shook his head in disbelief.

"So by this point," Madden continued, "I'm thinkin' we're down another couple of men. Sorry to sound cold about it, but we all know what our chances are like out in the open when all hell's breakin' loose. So without a man willin' to leave the safety of his `ole, let alone look at what's transpirin' above us, all I could hear was shouts from one of the officers for Donovan to get back to our trench. You know, orders accompanied by the usual expletives. Well, amongst all of the sounds of gunfire and explosions, didn't the officer's shoutin' finally stop after Donovan pulled the poor lad back into our dugout. The only thing I can say from that point is that shouts and cheers went up loud enough to be heard over the shellin'.'

Hobson just shook his head. "Unbelievable," he said, as if to himself.

"So, if you think the story ends there, listen to this. Well doesn't it turn out that Private Donovan was, in fact, at Etreux with you, Sully?"

"So he's one of the few who made it back to the Brigade?" Sully asked.

"Well, yes, in a roundabout sort of way," Madden teased.

"I don't understand.'

'Now believe this or not, after doin' his part at Etreux, he and several others managed to evade capture by the Germans."

~ ~ ~

Sully continued where Madden left off, not surprised in the least by the expression on Daniel's face.

"It took them months to do it, but from there they managed to make their way up through Belgium and Holland, where sometime after that they took a ship back to England."

Daniel was beyond surprised. "Belgium, then Holland," he reflected, "and back to England. How does anyone even do that?"

"I know," Sully agreed, in kind. "It was sometime in August of 1915 when Donovan rejoined the Battalion in France."

Daniel turned to look at the boxing ring on the other side of the compound. "That's unbelievable." He said, while taking a few slow steps.

"Isn't it?" Sully agreed. "But it's true."

As the two continued walking toward the ring, each of them remained silent until Sully reflected. "Makes you proud to be a Munster, doesn't it?"

"It does, mate. It does at that."

After squeezing through a few rows of on-lookers, Daniel watched the two combatants go at it for a few moments. They were boxing in a clumsy fashion, more like brawlers than trained fighters. He knew the better fights would come later. He cast his eyes around the crowd. He nodded to Collins who was ringside, hanging onto the ropes, on the other side of the enclosure. Collins returned Daniel's gesture having been welcomed by many back into most of the fold.

Then looking around again, Daniel couldn't help focusing in on a man lingering at the fringe of the crowd to the right of Collins.

He turned to his friend. "Sully, do you recognize that bloke, the one standing in the back over there?" Daniel nodded, focusing Sully in the right direction.

"Who do you mean?"

"The man standing, there, just to the right of Fitzgerald?"

Sully looked closer. "If it weren't for the beard, I'd say it looks a little like..."

"Gerry," they both said, together.

Then Gerry's eyes caught Daniel's. They each quickly got out of the fray, and the three men met each other just beyond the crowd-encapsulated ring.

Daniel couldn't believe his eyes. "Gerry," he announced, laughing. "Is it really you?"

"It is, my friend," he replied, with a wide smile. "Danny, Sully," he proclaimed, shaking his head. "I thought I would never see you again."

Gerry was from Daniel and Sully's old 1st Battalion. They hadn't seen each other since parting company in India.

"Likewise, mate," Sully agreed. "Likewise."

The roars and cheers of the crowd beside them testified to the epic struggle transpiring in the ring.

"We heard about Gallipoli," Daniel stated sombrely.

"Yeah," Gerry agreed, losing much of his grin. "Not many of us made it out of that one."

"And Roger?" Sully asked.

Gerry seemed at a loss for words and only shook his head.

"What about the Chief? Any word on him?" Daniel inquired.

"He went down leading the men. I saw it myself."

Daniel's head drooped for a moment. Then he feigned a smile. "It's the way he would have wanted it."

Just then a loud cheer went up, indicating another fight was over.

"Alright... alright!" the ringmaster shouted. "Winner stays on... winner stays on."

As the defeated man was helped out of the ring, the announcer continued. "Are there any challengers? I say again, are there any challengers?" he shouted, loudly.

"You look good, Gerry," Sully offered.

Gerry seemed unconvinced. "It's been hard," he said, his voice quivering. "The whole thing has been very hard."

"We'll have to get you into our bungalow," Daniel suggested.

Sully agreed. "Straight away, my old friend, straight away."

The ring announcer, again, bellowed over the raucous. "Is there anyone who will take on the winner?" He turned to the fighter. "What is your name, sir?"

"Kennedy," the man replied.

The shouting continued. "Is there anyone who will take on Kennedy?"

Though the name caught Daniel's attention, and the conversation between he, Sully and Gerry continued, the crowd seemed reluctant to provide a participant.

"Alright, then, if no one will step into the ring, it becomes the winner's prerogative to throw out his own challenge."

The announcer turned to Kennedy. "Is there anyone you would care to challenge in the ring?"

Kennedy turned to his left and growled at the man to which he wanted to teach a lesson.

"I challenge, Collins."

Daniel jerked his head to the side and looked straight into the ring.

The crowd instantly began to chant Collins' name.

"Collins... Collins... Collins!"

Although Collins looked terrified, and wanted nothing to do with it, several men held onto him. They felt he might try to slip away. But as the ringmaster waved for Collins to come forward, a shout was heard coming from the other side of the ring.

"I will fight on Collin's behalf!" After making his way rope-side, Daniel stated again, "I will fight Kennedy on Collins behalf."

Kennedy turned quickly as Daniel stepped through the ropes and into the ring.

"You can't do that. It's my challenge, and I've chosen Collins."

"That may be," Daniel agreed. "But the rules also state if the man challenged is not up to it he may choose a proxy."

The ring announcer looked at Kennedy, and then had to agree with Daniel. "He's right. Are you willing to fight this man?"

Kennedy gave it some thought while glaring at Daniel. By this time Sully and Gerry wrestled their way into Daniel's corner.

"I accept the proxy challenge!" Kennedy shouted.

As the crowd went wild with excitement, Daniel motioned for the men holding Collins to let him go. In doing so, Collins looked at Daniel and let his young eyes cast an appreciative stare.

"To your corners, then!" the announcer shouted. "You have one minute!"

To Sully and Gerry's surprise, the previous corner attendant passed them a bucket, a small stool and some gauze-like bandage with a roll of tape.

Sully jumped into the ring and was quickly followed by Gerry. "What the hell were you thinking, mate?" Sully gasped.

"We're beyond thinking, Sully," Daniel replied. "It's time for doing now."

Sully seemed unusually nervous. "Alright... alright! Sit down, we've got to tape up your hands, but first... first, take off your shirt. You don't want to get it bloodied."

Daniel was getting himself mentally prepared. "I'm not the one that's going to be bloodied, my friend."

"Of course, mate," Sully agreed while accepting Daniel's shirt.

As Gerry wrapped some tape around Daniel's fists, the other corner captured Sully's attention. It was Collins, and he seemed very concerned. After looking at Kennedy's taped hands, Collins could see some metal protruding through his old bandages.

He glared at Daniel's corner. "He's wearing iron knuckles!" he shouted in Sully's direction.

As Kennedy's corner man quickly covered them over with more tape, Kennedy leered at Collins. "Shut up, little man. Once I finish off Donoghue, I'll be challenging you again. And there'll be no way out of that one."

Collins recoiled and thought about slinking out of the crowd, but he resolved himself to stay and remain as loyal as Daniel was to him.

Sully turned back to Daniel. "Did you hear what Collins said?"

"I did," Daniel replied, before standing up. He glared at Kennedy with determination. It was a look Sully had seen only a couple of times before. "I don't care if he's got bayonets coming out of his knuckles. Kennedy's going down."

"That's my boy," Sully beamed, patting his friend on the back.

"Alright!" the referee shouted. "I'll need both fighters here in the centre!"

After the two men met in the middle, they each made their best attempt at staring each other down. "I want a good clean fight, men. This isn't a street fight. There'll be no kicking, no scratching or biting. We'll have just three five-minute rounds, so don't hold anything back. Do you understand?"

Both Daniel and Kennedy nodded. "Now go back to your corners, and when I give the signal, I want you both to come out fighting!"

"You can do it, Danny!" Collins shouted. Kennedy grunted at him in return.

Seconds later, a makeshift bell announced the opening of the first round.

Kennedy was the first to come out swinging. His was the strategy of a brawler, to go for the knockout punch right away. But having been taught how to fight properly, Daniel ducked and dodged each attempt, responding with a few well-placed abdominal shots of his own. Boxing lessons at St. Mary's Orphanage would yield their dividend, once again

It wasn't long, though, before Kennedy was showing signs of frustration. He flung Daniel up against the ropes and started with body blows of his own. One, two to the mid-section were quickly followed by three and four to the head. Daniel covered up well, but he had to break free; he had to get off the ropes. Daniel was a boxer, not a slugger, and he needed the whole ring for his style of fighting to be effective. He put everything he had into one shot to Kennedy's gut. The cheering crowd suddenly groaned as Kennedy bent over, grimacing in pain. Daniel was finally free.

Now back in the centre of the ring, he started to weave and bob around. This was where he wanted to be; he knew he owned this part of the ring. He taunted Kennedy to come and get him, to box it out, and he did. The next two minutes accounted for Daniel's jabs to Kennedy's face. Those were quickly interspersed with sharp upper cuts to the rib-section and jaw.

Suddenly, the bell went, ending the first round. Kennedy was bloodied, and the bell was music to his ears. But as Daniel went back to his corner, he looked as if he were catching his second wind. He was ready for more.

Gerry quickly put the stool in place and let Daniel sit down.

"You're doing great, Danny!" Sully exclaimed. He knelt down in front of Daniel. He took a damp cloth from his bucket and dabbed it over his face. Daniel said nothing, only looked around Sully and winked at Collins.

"Just keep doing what you're doing, Danny boy." Sully suggested. "Make him fight your fight."

But as the seconds quickly turned into minutes, the bell was rung again, and the second round began.

Kennedy tried a different strategy this time. He came out with the appearance of boxer, but not the technique. Daniel laid into him again, and as every punch found its mark, Collins winced, then smiled. Kennedy tried to force Daniel into the ropes again, but the better boxer would have none of it. Daniel spun himself off to Kennedy's right before landing another punishing body blow. Again, the boisterous crowd approved. As Kennedy slumped over, those who circled the ring hollered for Daniel to end it.

"Finish him!" Sully shouted from his corner.

As Kennedy stumbled and tried to regain his composure, Daniel looked to Sully and then Collins. They both gave him the nod.

And so when Kennedy returned with one final haymaker, Daniel stepped aside. Another shot to the side of his opponent's head sent him to the ground for the last time.

The crowd went wild as Daniel waited for the count. After it expired, he returned to his corner. He grasped the ropes and breathed heavily. "I'm getting too old for this," he suggested to his two smiling corner mates.

Sully was ecstatic. He quickly joined Daniel in the ring, patting him on the back. "You were fantastic, my friend, simply fantastic!"

Gerry was equally impressed. "You'll have no challengers after that!"

But as Kennedy's corner men helped him through the ropes, someone on the other side of the ring caught Gerry's attention. He was making his way through the thick, ringside gathering.

"Ah, Danny," Gerry gulped. "Did I happen to mention that I wasn't the only one to find his way to Limburg?"

"No, why," Daniel panted.

Sully then turned his head to see who Gerry was looking at. A familiar face was stepping through the ropes. "Oh Christ!" he declared.

"What?" Daniel said, turning his head as well.

They all stared, before announcing: "Hendrick!" in unison.

Daniel's old nemesis from India let loose a menacing smile.

Well, suffice it to say, Daniel's second fight did not go as well as the first. Each attempt at ducking and dodging had little effect. Nor did his punches carry the fury they did in the first fight. Not only was Hendrick a good fighter, but he was, as before, a good four inches taller than Daniel, and his reach reflected that fact.

It didn't take long before Daniel found himself on the ground for a fourth time. He lay there for a few moments with his head near his corner. Hendrick seemed to take great pleasure in beating Daniel, and he waited for him to get up so he could put him down one more time. But the referee seemed less optimistic and ready to start the count.

"Just stay down," Gerry pleaded.

"Yes, stay down, Danny!" Sully agreed.

The crowd was chanting again. "Get up... Get up... Get up!" But, this time they were so loud they drew the attention of someone else, another onlooker. As Daniel lay in the dirt, and squinted to confirm he could still see straight, a pair of boots walked their way toward the ring. They parted the throng before them. Grunts and groans followed as a pair of elbows cleared the way. Suddenly, the ropes parted again, and Daniel was now staring at those same boots.

"Get up!" came the order from above.

A large smile came over Sully's face. Gerry looked the new challenger up and down, as if impressed.

"Get up," the familiar voice repeated.

"What?" Daniel gasped, before looking up. He squinted again, trying to see who it was.

"I'll take over from here, mate!"

Daniel's lips cracked a bloody smile. "Shaw!" he stuttered, before being helped to his feet. "But I've got him right where I want him." Yet, as soon as the words came out of Daniel's mouth, he reached for the ropes just as his legs gave out. After catching Daniel before he fell, Shaw helped to pass his new friend through the ropes. He then turned his attention back to Hendrick. After taking his shirt off, the crowd came alive and roared again.

The ringmaster stepped into the enclosure. "Looks like we've got a new challenger!" he shouted.

While being led away by Gerry and Sully, the three men turned around to get a look at Shaw in action. It was obvious he was the superior fighter. He had the physique of a weight lifter, the technique of a trained athlete and a knowledge that can't be taught. It was based on instinct more than anything else, finely tuned in the depths of His Majesty's Royal ships.

Daniel cringed. "Oh... that one must have hurt." They walked slowly. "I hate to see a fellow Munster being taken apart like that."

"I agree," Sully said. "It was even harder to watch the first time."

Daniel laughed and then grimaced at the pain in his ribs. He accepted Gerry's and Sully's support as the three of them walked away.

Only moments later, the crowd went wild again. Daniel knew what had happened. It was Shaw, this time, beckoning Hendrick to get up. And a few seconds later, it was the Canadian Infantryman's hand being held high in the air. No further challengers dared to step into the ring that Sunday. In fact, the heavyweight belt, though tested again, remained with Shaw for the duration of the war.

Hobson was the first to meet Daniel, Sully and Gerry as they approached their bungalow. "What in the bleedin' hell happened to you?" he questioned Daniel.

"I was teaching an old adversary a lesson," Daniel sputtered.

Hobson was aghast. "A lesson in what?"

"In how to take a punch," Sully interjected.

"I softened him up for Shaw," Daniel added. "He finished him off for me."

"Finished who off?" Hobson asked, as they continued walking.

"Hendrick," Sully replied.

Suddenly, Daniel felt the urge to walk on his own. "Stop lads, stop. I think I'm fine to take if from here."

Sully and Gerry let Daniel go, rather easily, and then watched to see if his wobbly legs would hold.

"Who's Hendrick?" Hobson asked.

Daniel took one tepid step, and then another. "It's an old story, Hobber, from another lifetime."

After the group came to a stop at the barrack's entrance, they each stared at a posting, which had just been nailed to the door.

"And have I got a story for you!" Hobson stated.

"What the hell is this?" Sully blasted.

They all read the large word at the top of the notice.

"QUARANTINE," a German guard announced while passing a copy of the same to Daniel. Giving the matter little consideration beyond the execution of his duty, the guard turned to leave.

Sully couldn't believe it. "Why are we being quarantined?"

"Commandant's orders," the guard gruffly added before continuing on his way.

As Daniel read the contents of the notice, he, Sully, and Hobson walked up the steps into the barrack. Daniel stopped in the threshold of the door. "Maybe it would be better if you joined us at a later date, Gerry."

"If you say so, Mate," Gerry replied, before slowly walking away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

### Perception becomes reality

Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye,

In every gesture dignity and love.

John Milton

The Post Office was the most important organization in the Limburg camp. While the prisoner population fluctuated between 2,500 and 12,000, depending on how many prisoners were working off-site, the camp post office routinely handled in excess of 12,000 parcels every month. As many as 10,000 of these would be readdressed and rerouted to prisoners labouring outside the camp at temporary or long term work postings.

After being taken prisoner, it was common for some men to be registered to a camp without ever finding themselves within its fences. These soldiers were frequently transferred directly to work assignments in Germany. At times, some 60,000 to 70,000 soldiers claimed Limburg as their 'Home Camp.' As a result, the arduous task of keeping letters and parcels moving to as many as 200 to 300 off-site addresses routinely required the skills of more than a dozen prisoners. And it was through the hands of these competent men that Mary's thoughts and words came before the eyes of her loving husband.

Daniel was happy to finally learn that Mary had agreed to take some time away from the hospital, thereby avoiding being the recipient of hospital care instead of the provider of it. She did, however, continue to do whatever she could.

On one such occasion, during a rainy Saturday afternoon, Mary left Steven and David under mother's care all the while deflecting her mother's concern.

"Don't worry Mum, I'll be alright," Mary insisted, as she neared the front door of her father's house. What she hadn't divulged to Daniel in her letter was that she was only now recovering from, what one doctor called, a mild dose of pneumonia.

"If it's something I've picked up at the hospital," she suggested, "I'll only be returning it. Besides I haven't been out for several weeks and it's about time I get back to work."

On hearing his mother's words, Steve ran into the front hallway. "Make it a short one will you?" he asked. His mother had just crested the door's threshold. With her complexion reflecting the need for more time to convalesce, Steve was already wise enough to keep those thoughts to himself.

"I will, Love," Mary agreed. "Will you and David help your Gran with setting the supper table?"

Dave poked his head around the corner from the kitchen. "We will, Love," he interjected, teasing his mother with her own words. Mary couldn't help returning Dave's irrepressible smile. Then after closing the door behind her, she made the walk to the Fulham Hospital.

It was a short walk from where they lived now, on Chelmsford Street, in Fulham. Patrick had moved the family to be closer to his work several months ago. The war was aging him, and it was a way of exerting some control over the sphere within which he lived. Mary's walk to work was shorter as well, only five minutes now. And, like Chiswick, they were still only fifteen minutes from the Thames. It was during afternoons like these that Mary really appreciated getting out of the house. Working at the hospital helped her believe that she was doing something with her life, something beyond what motherhood offered her. It's not that she undervalued that role. It's just sometimes she needed more.

Mary sometimes yearned to live a little further away from work. A longer walk would have afforded her more time to herself, to reflect on things unrelated to her daily routine. She sometimes wondered about what sort of man Daniel would be when he returned home? Would he still be the man she knew before he left for France, or would he be irreparably transformed by the war and his imprisonment? How could he not, she often concluded at the same juncture of her journey. Maybe a shorter walk was better after all, she reliably lamented, because as soon as she walked through the hospital's front door, someone was distracting her from the darker places to which a worried mind sometimes gravitates.

"Oh luv, would you do something for me after you get changed?" the Head Nurse asked. Mary had just walked by one of the hospital's ground floor nursing stations.

"Of course," Mary replied. "I'll just be a moment," she added, concealing an annoying cough. Shrugging off the effects of what she suspected was the compounding addition of a mild chest cold, Mary slipped into the nursing staff change-room and switched into her blue and white aproned uniform.

She made her way down the hall, fidgeting with her headdress, tucking her hair up and out of the way. Mary then asked the otherwise preoccupied Head Nurse how she could help.

"Oh yes, Mary," Nurse Evans said, reminding herself of what she wanted Mary to do. "If you don't mind following me." Nurse Evans pushed her chair back and joined Mary in front of the nursing station.

"Not at all," Mary replied.

"It's turning out to be a bit of a slow day, but there's this one poor fellow who could use a bit of company."

"Of course."

"Let me show you to his ward." The elder nurse said, speaking calmly as they began to walk. "It seems he's from Chiswick, and well, I just thought since you were from there as well, it would give you something in common to talk about. You understand, of course."

As they walked further, the Head Nurse, who was almost twice Mary's age, noticed something out of place with Mary's demeanour. It wasn't like her to appear preoccupied, so easily distracted.

"Are you alright child?" she asked, nearing the entrance to the large ward.

"Pardon?" Mary asked.

"Are you going to be alright?" she repeated. "You look a little pale, if you don't mind me saying." They both stopped outside the ward's large double doorway.

"Oh yes, I'm fine," Mary suggested while composing herself. "I think I'm just a little overtired."

"Alright then, but before you go in, I should tell you the surgeons have done all they can for this poor boy."

Mary nodded her head.

"He's suffered a head wound, so he sometimes drops in and out of consciousness."

"I see."

Nurse Evans pursed her lips and shook her head. "How the subconscious mind works, I will never know."

"I'm sure everything will be alright, Mum," Mary suggested. She gave a physical hint toward the door.

"Oh Mary before you go in, just so you're not taken aback by his appearance, there is one thing I should say. I know you've had to deal with this sort of thing before, but... well... your patient, he is how should I say... remarkably bandaged."

Pausing only to envisage what that meant, Mary responded without hesitating. "Thank you for concern, mum, but I'll be fine."

Then with a smile, Mary turned and was followed by the Head Nurse into the ward. Glancing quickly around the room filled with rows of iron beds, Mary's eyes quickly found the patient she was there to comfort. Only a nod of confirmation was needed from the nurse to set Mary in motion. "Thank you," she whispered, before grasping a chair. Walking slowly toward her patient, other soldiers in various stages of recovery nodded as she passed.

Some were just lonely lads, happy to rest their eyes on the divineness of both a nurse's real and imagined beauty. Still others, who had previously benefited from Mary's care, greeted her with a respectful nod. Making her somewhat uncomfortable, this was undoubtedly the result of her Autograph Book portrait now being well circulated within her ward. Then, finding her patient at the end of one of the rows, Mary put her chair down so as to position herself beside the faceless young man.

"Who's there?" the youthful voice asked. He tilted his head slightly forward. Then rolling his head to the right he saw her through a couple of holes, holes only big enough to allow for a limited perspective of view.

Mary paused for a moment as she tried to absorb her patient's condition. It was obviously a serious wound. With bandages wrapped entirely around his head, the only other exceptions to his dehumanising covering were an airway for his nose and another only large enough to feed him.

Then utilizing what Daniel loved most about her, Mary instantly looked through the bandages. Seeing beyond her patient's limitations, she focused on his two revealing eyes. Eyes, appearing subtly brown, were made all the more compelling through the lack of any other facial expression.

"Oh, who... are you?" he asked again, after seeing Mary at his bedside. Though his voice was clear and not the slightest bit muffled by his bandages, it was obvious he was exerting some effort to speak.

With her first impression only taking seconds to digest, Mary had already weighed any consideration pertaining to violating an important nurse's rule. If there ever was a time she should be willing to divulge her name, she thought, in the interest of compassion, this was it.

"My name is Mary," she said softly, with a compassionate smile. "What is yours?"

"I am... Jeffrey!" he answered, rather methodically. His tone was firm, though somewhat mechanical; His sentences came out as if broken up into separate pieces.

"Pleased to meet you, Jeffery."

Mary watched as he responded only with only a single and slow nod.

"They tell me you're from Chiswick," Mary said leaning forward.

Interpreting his condition as having been the result of some sort of brain injury, she made an effort not to speak slower than she otherwise would, or pronounce her words with any undue accentuation. Instead she would treat him, as she did all under her care, with the dignity he deserved.

Again he nodded slowly up and down in response to Mary's question.

At a bit of a loss for what to say next, Mary optimistically asked, "You'll be going home soon then, won't you?" Realizing what she had just said, she instantly wished she could take back those words.

Mary looked into his eyes and with the lack of any verbal or motioned response she could see what appeared to be tears welling up in his eyes.

"Me Mum... has passed."

"Your Mother has passed away? I'm terribly sorry to hear that," Mary stated, before trying, again, to muffle a persistent cough.

He slowly nodded his head in agreement.

"Is there no one else?"

Again he motioned his head, this time side to side.

"You... remind me... of her."

With this observation, Mary couldn't help but feel emotionally drawn into her patient's sorrowful state. After glancing downward, she looked up at him with eyes likewise of the verge of tearing.

"I remind you... of your mother?"

He nodded again.

A brief moment of silence ensued as Mary attempted to regain her composure. It wasn't like Mary to show her emotions so freely. She pulled a handkerchief from her apron and tried to dab her eyes without being noticed.

"Do you... sing?" Jeffrey asked.

"Do I sing? Sometimes... why?"

"Mother... had a beau... tiful... voice."

"Was she a singer?"

Jeffrey shook his head side to side slowly before adding, "It was... her dream... to... to be on stage."

Mary nodded in acknowledgement before using her kerchief again, this time to cover her mouth. She coughed, again, more strongly. In response, another nurse at the other end of the ward gave Mary a concerned look. Mary quickly raised her hand and motioned as if she were alright.

"Did she ever become one, a singer, I mean?"

Jeffrey was genuinely concerned. "Are you... alright?"

Mary smiled at the selflessness of her patient. "Thank you, I'm fine. Please go on, I want to hear more about your mother."

"In... service," was all he could say after nodding again. Jeffrey meant that his mother was a household servant.

"I see. That's hard work, isn't it?"

"Her favourite... song was... Panis... Panis... Angel,"

"Panis Angelicus?" Mary interjected.

"Yes," he said, as his eyes lit up again. "Do you know... the words?"

"I'm sorry, Jeffrey," Mary admitted. "I only know the tune."

"I'll teach you... th... then."

"You know the words, do you?" Mary smiled. Her willingness to play along was buoyed by his contagious sincerity.

"Mum would sing... for m m me."

Mary couldn't help but notice that Jeffery seemed to be tiring.

"She did, did she?" Mary quipped again, this time with a broader smile.

"First line... you know."

"Of course," Mary responded. "Panis Angelicus!"

"Second... fit panis hom... inum." Jeffrey struggled.

"Fit panis hominum," Mary quietly sang to the tune she remembered.

"That's it," Jeffrey responded. "Now you stand... like Mother would."

"You want me to stand... and sing for you?" Mary asked with a nervous smile. Looking at the other beds close by, she seemed embarrassed by the prospect. "I couldn't do that!"

By this time several other patients near Jeffrey's bed were encouraging Mary to play along.

"As a boy... Mother would sing... when I was ill."

"Come on Mum, it would do us all a bit of good," another patient offered in support. "You can do it," another one added.

Mary gave it a thought for a moment but soon nervously acquiesced. "Oh well, I'll make no promises, though." She slowly and somewhat reluctantly got up from her chair.

"You do look just like Mother," Jeffrey added, before nodding for her to start. In his mind, a violin was already playing the introduction.

So with an innate ability to fulfill the perception of what a nurse meant to her patients, Mary began the first verse, not surprisingly, almost perfectly in tune.

~

Panis angelicus

Mary smiled and hesitated before Jeffrey offered the next verse.

fit panis hominum;

The second came more comfortably, with orchestral accompaniment.

Dat panis coelicus

For Jeffrey, his mind began to supplement his perception of Mary.

figuris terminum:

Her modest uniform of blue and white was transformed in front of his eyes.

O res mirabilis!

Mary's dress turned a royal embroidered blue, and apron of the crispest white.

Manducat Dominum

Again, Mary became a divine vision of every soldier's perfect nurse.

Pauper, servus et humilis.

~

To Jeffrey though, as the first verse transitioned into the second, a beautiful luminescence began to rise out of him. Incredibly, when it shone on Mary, it transformed her into Jeffrey's mother.

~

Te trina Deitas

With Jeffrey's soul now at peace, his body was made ready for its final journey.

unaque poscimus:

Singing angelically, his mother extended her arms to embrace him.

Sic nos tu visita,

As she sang, she looked longingly at her son's wavering mortality.

sicut te colimus;

Beckoning him on, her reassuring voice foretold of a wonderful existence ahead.

Per tuas semitas

Again, offering part of her own spirit, Mary's love would be the noblest of gifts.

duc nos quo tendimus,

Then as if to acknowledge being ready for what came next, Jeffrey raised his head and held out his hand.

Ad lucem quam inhabitas.

On the threshold of a completed transformation, Mary began to gently reappear.

Amen.

Finally emerging as if the experience had consumed her, Mary unexpectedly lost consciousness... and collapsed.

"Mary!" those around her yelled. As the other nurse ran toward Mary, several patients struggled their way out of their beds. They crawled and even dragged themselves to come to her aid.

"Call the Doctor!" the nurse shouted. She looked back at another near the entrance to the ward.

As a small group crowded around Mary, unbeknown to them a light slowly emerged from Jeffrey. Having finally succumbed to his wounds, his soul was now ready to join his surviving loved ones. But as the light lingered over Mary, it paused, as if it were reluctant to leave.

As what remained of Jeffrey drifted over her, he could sense that Mary was not ready to release her spirit. A small fragment of light then left his soul and joined hers. It was Jeffrey's parting gift.

Then as if to announce it was not her time, Mary's concerned onlookers sighed when she coughed once, and then again. On this reassurance, Jeffrey's soul then departed, this time for its final journey.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

### The end is near

The mind is its own place, and in its place

can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.

John Milton

For the human tragedy, which seemed to know no end, the spring and summer of 1918 would bear witness to some of the war's most dramatic events to date. One of significance was the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. Signed on 3rd of March, it concluded peace negotiations between Russia and the Central Powers, finally ending Russia's involvement in the conflict. This allowed as many as 50 German Divisions to be redeployed to the Western Front. They were subsequently used during a powerful thrust into Allied territory. This Spring Offensive was launched with the intention of bringing the war to an end before the American Army could become fully involved.

During the last week in March, elite German storm trooper units underscored Father Crotty's futility of war sentiment by retaking much of the territory they lost during the Somme campaign of 1916. However, the recaptured ground represented little strategic value, having been the focal point of too many bombardments. Although gains were significant, German losses were considerable and only increased in numbers during Allied counter-attacks. In the end, another breakthrough would not be realized.

At this time in the war, as many as 200,000 United States' soldiers were landing in France every month. As a result, the Allied effort was poised to benefit from nearly one million American men at varying stages of deployment.

By the end of the first week of August, the Allies were ready to capitalize on their own achievements as well as the enemy's misfortune. In launching their own campaign, the One Hundred Days Offensive not only turned the war's tide in the Allies favour, it would become their final drive to victory. The first day of this series of battles was so successful that Germany's Commander-in-Chief Eric Ludendorff called August 8th 1918 'the Black Day of the German Army.'

While the spirit of victory now buoyed the enthusiasm of every Allied soldier, German setbacks were compounded by a sense of defeated morale. So much so that a common sentiment among German infantrymen was found in the thought; Our Generals are needlessly prolonging the war. The battle's greatest success was characterized by an end to the war's relentless stalemate.

To the individual soldier this event's significance was magnified by the fact that it brought to a close the most dreaded aspect of the First World War, trench warfare. It also resumed a period where the war would be defined, not by stagnation, but mobility, something the Western Front had not seen since the first months of 1914. With the One Hundred Days Offensive defining the remaining months of the war, its successes would, again, be underwritten by tremendous human sacrifice.

As a result of the American contribution growing every day, nearly 100 U.S. Army non-commissioned officers and privates were now interred at the Limburg P.o.W. Camp. While there, the fate of one of those soldiers was found in the capable hands of a Munster Fusilier. As Sully laboured his summer away within the walls of the camp's Post Office, Daniel spent much of his time helping out with the wounded and infirmed. When their quarantine restrictions were found to be unwarranted, and finally lifted, they were eager to do whatever work was allotted to them.

It was during one evening in the third week of August when Daniel sat at a small desk doing some minor clerical work in the camp infirmary. Many prisoners arrived at Limburg with battlefield wounds of varying degrees. Severe cases were treated at a hospital outside the camp in the village of Limburg. The remainder of the wounded were most often treated within the camp by captured British Army Medics. Assisting one of the camp's RAMCs, or Royal Army Medical Corps, Daniel carried out a variety of tasks, not the least of which was the simple act of being there when he was needed.

Daniel enjoyed the solitude the infirmary environment offered. It was wonderfully quiet, a place where he could concentrate. Under a dim electric lightbulb he could read or write a letter home with little interruption. This evening he was trying to finish a poem while reading over his latest letter from home. It was from Patrick. The nearly six-week old note chronicled Mary's relapse into illness. If Daniel was bothered by anything it was the fact that Patrick was a man of few words. This time, though, Daniel was reluctant to let his concern yield to his father-in-law's stiff upper lip, for he knew firsthand how easily an illness could travel through a large institution.

His eyes read and re-read one important paragraph. It cited how Mary's illness was common to a number of other patients; she had also come under the watchful eye of several of the hospital's doctors. Wanting to temper any fears the aforementioned information would inflict on his son-in-law, Patrick also finished his letter by imparting the fact that Ellen was nearly inseparable from Mary, as she rested comfortably in bed. What Patrick failed to mention was that, from the time of her collapse, Mary remained in hospital.

With worry being awarded its due, Daniel made several unsuccessful attempts at occupying his thoughts with other things. In putting down one piece of paper, he picked up another, a smaller one, and continued working on an unfinished poem. Then responding to several moans coming from one of his infirmary patients, he glanced up from his desk. He quickly recognised it as the sound of a patient's fitful sleep. He must be dreaming, Daniel thought.

Losing himself in thought again, Daniel tilted his head upward, as if he were looking at the roughly hewn boards of the infirmary's ceiling. His eyes looked through them, as if out into the night, when a smile slowly came over his face. He had just found what had been eluding him for some time, his poem's last two verses. In the time it took him to write them down, Daniel looked up again after being prompted, once more, by the same recovering soldier.

"Excuse me," his patient announced. The soldier's youthful tone sounded somewhat distressed.

"Can I help you?" he asked. Daniel's legs pushed his chair backward just enough to get up from his desk.

The infirmary, which accounted for several converted barracks, was relatively quiet tonight. There was only one other wounded soldier present, and he was sleeping soundly. In the course of helping out at the infirmary, Daniel sometimes filled the solo overnight shift in the overflow ward. This barrack was within close proximity to both the main ward bungalow and the available skills of the full-time RAMC Medic.

The wood-clad and timber-beamed room was only dimly lit. With the evening sun long past its descent, the thin vertically oriented windows were opened as far as was allowed. They enabled wisps of cooler evening air to push aside their opponent, the encamped summer heat.

"May I," the soldier began to ask. "May I have a glass of water?"

"Of course," Daniel replied.

Turning quickly to a curtained-off section, he carefully poured a glass of water from a half-full pitcher. While walking over to his patient, the soldier straightened himself upward. Though both of them stared briefly at the depression in his thin wool blanket, the soldier's troubled eyes more poignantly reflected the absence of his right leg. Then awkwardly refocusing his attention, Daniel gave the young lad his glass of water. His hands trembled as he took several large gulps.

"Is everything alright?" Daniel asked.

The soldier had a youthful appearance, one of barely twenty years. As the young blonde-haired lad glanced up and then back at the glass now in his lap, he did his best to reassure Daniel. "I'll be fine."

Daniel paused for a moment before seeking reassurance. "You're sure? Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No, thank you. I think it was just a bad dream."

"Try not to let it bother you," Daniel suggested, putting his left hand on the steel bed-frame. "Bad dreams are common here."

"Are they?" he asked, as if for reassurance.

Exercising the intuitiveness of a father, Daniel let the young patient's demeanour indicate whether he wanted to talk further.

"Considering what you've been through, it's understandable."

"I suppose so," he said, indecisively. Tempting a glance again at his missing leg, he quickly looked back at his nearly empty glass.

"Let me know, then, if you need anything," Daniel offered. A silent nod was the only cue required. While Daniel turned toward his desk, his patient looked around the unoccupied room. Suddenly, it seemed empty, moreover, lonely. He would have preferred to deal with his fears on his own, but tonight solitude seemed unappealing. Spontaneity got the better of him. "Ha... have you ever had a flying dream?" he piped up.

Daniel stopped and turned around. "A flying dream?"

"You know, have you ever dreamt you were able to fly... like a bird?"

Daniel smiled and instantly realized how a young man's disposition can sometimes belie his emotional maturity. He couldn't help imagining his own sons asking the same question.

"As a matter of fact I have," Daniel began, as he returned to the foot of the bed. He stopped and looked up toward the ceiling as if he were scrolling through a very old chest of memories. "You know, to this day I remember the dream quite vividly."

Junior seemed pleasantly surprised. "You do?"

"Yes, I can still remember it." Daniel said.

The young lad seemed to appreciate Daniel's willingness to play along, and even more the fact that he extended his arms out as if he were re-enacting the moment. "I jumped off my mother's fence and flew around our back yard," he exclaimed. Daniel's tone was so matter-of-fact that he seemed to exude a confidence common only to those that can sustain flight. After tilting side-to-side to emphasize the loftiness of his experience, he looked down at his patient and found him smiling.

Daniel put his arms down. "But you said you had a nightmare. My flying dream was anything but that."

"Well," he said, losing some of his enthusiasm, "I guess it all depends on what you're flying over."

"Aye, it does," Daniel agreed. Wanting to leave the door open for further discussion, he waited for the young lad to go on. A pause ensued for a few moments, before Daniel added, "If you'd rather not talk about it, I understand." He hoped they would continue, but made a slight motion to go back to his desk.

"No, I would," he said, hesitantly, "it's just..."

"By the way, my name is Daniel."

"My name is Jack, but you can call me Junior," he said with a smile.

"Junior it is, then."

"Yeah, I can thank my brother for that one. He's here too. We're both from the 23rd Infantry."

Daniel walked over and sat on the vacant bed beside Junior's. "Where are you from?"

As the infirmary's patients all wore the same white woollen long sleeved shirt and trousers Daniel was left to guess at the source of the young lad's accent.

"Iowa."

"Iowa," Daniel repeated. "What's it like back home in Iowa?"

As the two men exchanged stories ranging from what they missed back home to Junior's grandfather's involvement in the Civil War, time passed almost without notice. So much so, that they nearly lost track of how their conversation got started.

"I almost forgot. Did you still want to tell me about your flying dream?"

"I suppose," Junior said. His expression turned both reflective and hesitant at the same time. "I was flying over a battlefield."

"A battlefield... that is a bad dream, isn't it?"

"It was terrible. I could see my regiment fighting below." He paused and glanced again at the sunken blanket beside his left leg. Having sustained only a minor wound in battle, infection led to his leg's eventual removal at the St. Vinzenz Hospital in Limburg.

"If you'd rather, we could leave it for another time."

"No, that's alright." The young lad paused, before continuing. "We were in the battle where I was taken prisoner. It was as if I was reliving the whole thing, only from a different point of view."

Appearing somewhat despondent, he looked down again at the glass in his lap. "I could see our line and the German line too. We were advancing against a hail of gunfire and shrapnel. My regiment was taking a beating. Men were dying everywhere."

"Sounds like a nightmare, more than a dream."

"And what's worse... I was powerless to do anything about it. It seemed as though everyone below, well," he looked up at Daniel, "we had all been forsaken."

"Forsaken... by whom?"

He paused before suggesting: "By God."

Daniel was taken by surprise. "What made you think God has forsaken you?"

Junior waited another moment before admitting to the most unusual part of his story. "Because in my dream, my nightmare... I knew I was looking down from where God normally is."

"You were flying in Heaven?" Daniel could see the young man was becoming uncomfortable. "I see, you're looking down from Heaven and wondering..."

"Why has God forsaken us, Daniel?" Junior interjected.

The birth of a smile came over Daniel's face as a look of bewilderment came over Junior's.

"God hasn't forsaken us, Junior."

"How can you be so certain?" Junior retorted. "I mean, doesn't it seem that way, sometimes?"

"It does, doesn't it?" Daniel agreed, with that same out of place smile.

"Well then!" Junior challenged.

"God hasn't forsaken us, Junior... we have forsaken God!"

"We have forsaken God?" he replied, before pausing. "I never thought of it that way." Junior seemed intrigued yet skeptical.

"I suppose I could try to explain, but... are you sure you want to hear the musings of an old soldier?"

"Why not? I would make a good... what would you call it... a captive audience."

Daniel laughed. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"Where to begin. First, trust me when I say, you're not the only one here wondering how God fits into this war."

Junior couldn't help interjecting: "I mean... I still believe in God. It's just..."

"You're wondering how could He let this all happen."

Junior looked down, as if hesitant to say what he was thinking. "Some say this war is proof there is no God."

Daniel was quick to respond. "That isn't so, Junior. If anything I think it demonstrates how when we push God aside something inevitably takes His place. Sometimes the void is filled with darkness."

"I see what you mean. We're left to our sinister devices. Devices meant to kill and maim..." Junior stopped himself and looked away. He recognised where his thoughts were taking him.

"God never deserts us, Junior. He is always waiting for us to find Him."

"Then where is He?"

Daniel thought about it for a moment. "Well, as a boy I was taught that the Kingdom of God in within you."

Junior almost laughed. He glanced upward. "Then maybe it's not up there after all?"

"I've come to think that our departed loved ones live on in us. That when they die, the spirit of what they aspired to... the best of what they represented is passed on to the living. In a way, their soul joins ours."

A solemn Junior looked as though he wanted it to be so.

"You know, I tell my boys that we are all foot soldiers in God's legion. And we all have a responsibility to lead humanity toward a brighter future." A grin came over Daniel's face. "I suppose that's why I call them my brave young soldiers!"

Junior nodded. "That's a nice way of looking at it. Then the boys we left out there didn't die in vain. They're not really gone if they live on in me."

Daniel smiled. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

Junior glanced at his good leg and then stared off into the distance beyond the limits of the room.

As the hour of midnight had come and gone some time ago, Junior let himself slip from his upright posture into a more comfortable position.

"Yes, I think it's well beyond that time," Daniel agreed. Using his hands to push on his knees, he got up and stretched his stiffened legs. Turning to his desk, he paused in response to one more question from Junior.

"Do you think we'll ever get out of here, Daniel?"

"It's funny you should ask that because I've just written a poem I think you'd like."

Then picking up the small piece of paper from his desk, Daniel walked over and handed it to Junior.

"You can read it in the morning. I think you'll enjoy it. It's called 'I am free.' By coincidence it begins with something like a flying dream."

Junior smiled. "Thanks, Daniel. I'm sure I'll like it."

As Daniel smiled, and walked toward his bunk, Junior piped up again.

"Thanks again, Daniel. Thanks for everything!"

"You're welcome Junior. And thanks for listening to an old soldier's musings."

Daniel turned off the lone light bulb before settling into his own bunk.

It would be the last week of August before Daniel would finally be able to work outside the camp again. After leaving the heavy camp gates with their customary German escort, Daniel and his fellow prisoners marched for nearly a half hour, in a southwesterly direction, along the Dietkirchen-Limburg Road. The Limburg camp, located on both sides of the Limburger Strassa, was actually closer to the small village of Dietkirchen than it was to Limburg. Passing field after field of swaying crops, Daniel empathized with the captive hands that had seeded them and would soon labour again in their harvest. After entering the historic city of Limburg, Daniel and his mates were again transported back in time to one of Europe's best examples of medieval architecture.

While crossing the Lahn River, Daniel could be forgiven for missing the old bridge's importance as a historical transport route, if he were to look in a southeasterly direction. Seeing St. George's Cathedral abutting its majestic river setting from this perspective instantly slowed his stride.

The cathedral was built on the rock foundations of an old monastery site. The grand Romanesque style architecture, with its twin towers and seven spires, seemed only too deserving of its consecration in the year 1235. Daniel wasn't the only one drawn to the bridge's side wanting to prolong the picturesque scene. As expected, though, they were quickly prompted by their military escort to keep moving.

Venturing further into the old narrow streets of the village, stone and half-timbered structures defined most of the dwellings they passed. One house, a guard pointed out, was recognised as one of the oldest freestanding houses in all of Germany. Plaster inset between red and black sturdy beams complimented the timeless strength of stone craftsmanship.

After coming within the shadow of the cathedral itself, the informal column was ordered to stop. Daniel looked up the road at an old man plodding beside his mule driven cart; he was struck by the quietness of the empty cobblestone streets. The echo of hooves left a misplaced soldier with little else to interpret. It was obvious both the older gentleman and his mule should have been relegated to retirement long ago. One seemed as tired as the other, as if disheartened by the unending conflict. The war that consumed both man and beast alike seemed to have depleted them equally. Then, with an order from one of the guards, one by one, Daniel and his mates filed passed the grey-haired civilian as each was handed a shovel, broom, or sickle. Daniel chuckled at his pathetic corn broom, but brought it to the steps of the cathedral nevertheless.

"What do 'ya bet we're doing this for Sedan Day?" the Irishman next to Daniel suggested, referring to the September 2nd National Holiday.

"I think it's going to be a small parade," Daniel joked.

Detecting the joviality among the workers, one of the guards walked over and ordered, "No talking. Es ist verboten. It is forbidden!" His English was passable, but thickly accented. His nimble stature and thick-rimmed glasses seemed to be, like his uniform, as ill-fitting to the mold, which casts a professional soldier.

Daniel shrugged off the admonishment and attempted to distract himself by looking up at the twin towers of the cathedral. He continued his work, hoping, grasping at the argument that one's labour could be interpreted as its own reward. He wondered if the person who ever suggested such a thing had ever been on a prisoner a work detail. Obviously not, he concluded, before his obsessive line of thought was interrupted. Suddenly he was forced to reflect on the theory being confirmed. After perceiving the passage of only a short period of time, the men were ordered to stop for their mid-day break.

On orders to reassemble in front of the cathedral, they all sat on a small stonewall to the left of the impressive church. Daniel quickly finished an unimpressive bit of lunch and then asked one of the hovering guards, "May I look inside?" He spoke slowly, hoping one of them would understand.

The four guards turned quickly and stared at him. A moment of silence passed before the guard, known only as, Ludwig, walked over. With a sympathetic gesture, he motioned with his hand to Daniel. "Come, I show you." The two of them ascended the several stairs, before Ludwig opened one of the large wooden doors.

"It is beautiful, yes?"

"Magnificent," Daniel replied, after peering inside.

But Daniel had barely seen the interior's ornateness when a shout came from the street.

"Das ist nichts fur ihn!" "That's not for him!" an older lady bellowed.

Daniel and Ludwig's attention were drawn to several women who were passing by the church. As if coming home from the market, they each carried large baskets. The still seated guards and workers looked on as well.

"Seien sie auf irem weg, eine Frau!" "Be on your way, woman!" another guard indignantly shouted back. The woman scowled before continuing.

"I'm sorry," Ludwig said. "We must go."

"I hope I didn't get you in trouble?" Daniel said.

After closing the cathedral's front door, Daniel joined Ludwig at the base of the steps to the church.

"The war has been... how do you say... very hard on our women."

"Do they come from the market?"

"No," Ludwig replied. "There has been no market for some time. They are coming back from the countryside. They left early this morning to try to find food for their families. The few who have remained in my village have too little to eat."

For a moment Daniel was silent, not knowing what to say.

"I think they have it much worse than you," Ludwig stated.

Just then, both men heard another shout, "Zuruck zur arbeit!" "Back to work!"

As Daniel picked up his broom, he wondered why these women seemed to have it so much worse than those at home in England. After all, Mary had told Daniel in letters that as much as fifty percent more women were working and earning full-time wages as a result of the war supply effort. What he didn't know, though, was how differently the opposing forces were managing their side of the conflict.

In fact, as the war dragged on, Britain and France were much more successful than Germany at marshalling an economic system, which sustained those who would fight the war, as well as those who would supply it with both goods and men. Though Germany suffered severely as a result of the British naval blockade, the systems of governance, which controlled their respective war economies, would eventually become an asset to one side and a liability to the other.

While Britain and France struggled with the checks and balances their democracies afforded their people, Germany essentially became a military dictatorship when the Kaiser handed over power to his Army's Commander-in-Chief in 1916. This allowed profits and inflation to soar, as the economy was managed largely through a relationship between German Industrialists and the Army.

Conversely, management of the war economy in Britain and France did not allow for any party, worker or owner alike, to take advantage of the state's requirement to be victorious. In reading related articles in the newspapers, Patrick began to understand how closely the living standard of a country's civilian population is tied to its industrial output. This crucial fact, he came to realize, helped to ensure that the needs of those supplying the war effort were appropriately valued when balanced against those exerted on the battlefield.

Such was not the case in Germany. Though the industrialists were clamoring for more workers, Daniel saw for himself how the effort to sustain a civilian population is left to wives and mothers at home. As women spent more time pursuing the necessities to run their households, so were their numbers less available to work in factories. Yes, many German women worked outside the home, but most of those who worked in support of the war effort did so only after transferring primarily from the textile industry. By this time in the war, these factors were among those leading to widespread discontent among Germany's population. To many, the war seemed lost. And as Daniel's working party would soon witness, many soldiers felt this way as well.

As Daniel and his fellow mates were prompted again by the guards to assemble, the old man stood by his donkey as each of them dropped their tool in the large wheeled cart. It was September 1st and another laborious day had come and gone.

"There, you'll have a wonderful parade on Monday," Daniel said to Ludwig.

The friendly guard's demeanour was subdued. "Yes, but I think it will be a quiet one."

Being one of the first to deposit his broom, both Daniel and Ludwig drifted a few paces down the road, away from the cart. Ludwig was about the same age as Daniel and appeared to be of the same temperament. He seemed capable enough. But the main reason for his being relegated to a prison camp lay not in his inability to accurately fire a rifle, but more from the fact that he could only carried a pistol. The blonde haired Ludwig had lost his right arm, from the elbow down, in the first year of the war.

"Will more people come in from the farms?" Daniel asked.

"I think not," he replied. "It's not what it used to be. Before the war we had a parade and a... we call it a Konzert."

"A concert?" Daniel added.

"Yes, a concert in the... uhm... Quadrat. Square, I think you call it."

"Is there no concert this year?"

"No... no concert this year. There hasn't been one for a couple of years now," he replied. "We don't have enough musiker."

"Musicians," Daniel asked. "The village doesn't have enough musicians?"

"Not anymore." Ludwig lamented.

Daniel paused as they readied to depart.

"Why don't you ask Exner... I mean, the Commandant if the musicians from the village can join ours at the camp? We could have a concert there, together."

"I don't know, it sounds nice... but I try to avoid talking with the Kommandant. I like to keep to myself. I do my job... stay out of the way."

Daniel nodded then smiled. "But if he likes the idea, maybe it would get you a promotion."

"A promotion... I think not," he reflected. "But, maybe I will mention it... the konzert, I mean."

"Come on, line up," another guard shouted.

The men slowly readied themselves for the half hour march back to the camp. But within moments of departing, everyone's attention was drawn to a disturbance coming from an adjoining street.

It appeared as though two officials on horseback were trying to make an arrest. After making a hasty and unsuccessful attempt at fleeing, a middle-aged man was corralled by the two horsemen at an intersection. They were in plain view of Daniel's work party.

Ludwig leaned over towards Daniel. "They are from the Feldgendarmerie," he confided. "I think you call them... military police. They must be arresting him for desertion."

Daniel and his group looked on while the arrest seemed to proceed rather uneventfully. But, as one of the officials got off his horse, in order to tie the man's hands, Daniel couldn't help noticing two women, who had just emerged from one of the nearby houses.

It must have been the man's wife and daughter, Daniel presumed, as they both instantly started badgering the two arresting officers.

"Sie haben genug von unserer Manner getotet!" "You have killed enough of our men," one of them shouted, almost crying. Daniel was astonished to see the women acting so brazenly. Were they that brave, he thought, or did they have so little to lose.

Wearing a dark non-descript dress and apron, one that could possibly indicate she was still observing a period of mourning, she continued to release a torrent of anger.

The sound of hooves on the cobblestone was interspersed with insults from both sides. "Halt den mund, alte Frau!" "Shut your mouth, old woman," the policeman retorted. His intensity seemed to carry with it the additional threat of the horsemen's physical reprisals.

To the astonishment of the onlookers, this only made matters worse. It caused several other women on the street to come to their neighbour's defence. Incredibly, several of the women picked up what stones they could find and threw them at the two Feldgendarmerie. The two officials instantly recoiled.

Stunned by the small group's lack of compliance, they noticed the guards of the nearby work detail and beckoned them for their help. Looks of bewilderment adorned the officials, as Ludwig and his fellow guards did nothing but look on. Daniel was amazed by the unfolding drama, but not surprised when the two horsemen shouted at both groups. He recognised a few words of their verbal tirade, but it was obvious their bravado was deflated by the exhibition of defiance.

Then swearing to return, "Wird dir noch leid, wenn ich wiederkomme!" "You'll be sorry, when I come back!" he shouted.

With the sound of horses' hooves echoing down the narrow street, they both rode off in a quick and blusterous state.

"It's happening more often now," Ludwig reluctantly admitted.

Daniel didn't know what to say.

"Many people only have contempt for what they represent," Ludwig added, referring to officials.

"It's their kind that got us into this war," another guard added, "let them get us out of it."

After resuming their march, Daniel couldn't help wondering, how much longer can these people hold on?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

### Waiting for word

Adversity is the first path to truth.

Lord Byron

Nearly two weeks had come and gone since Daniel worked in the infirmary and an agonising three had passed without any further news of Mary's condition. These were difficult days for Daniel, as he laboured on a daily basis outside the fences of the camp.

Patrick's last letter, dated June 14th, was nearly seven weeks old now. Though Daniel knew from experience that letters were sometimes lost in transit, or held up by the censor, the lack of any update on the state of Mary's condition was more than cause for his own concern. Sully was now hoping, for his friend's sake, that news would arrive soon. Asking him daily to closely monitor the incoming mail, this request was always accompanied by Sully's thoughtful reassurance and genuine disappointment as each day passed uneventfully.

When the men of Sully's barrack left their bungalow early this morning, Daniel silently walked with the multitude; a diversity, which in addition to the 2000 Irishmen, now included American, French, Italian, English, Serb, Belgian, Romanian and Polish soldiers. Also answering the 6 a.m. Roll Call this morning was a number of prisoners who represented an influx above the steady flow the unending war produced. As many as 20,000 British soldiers were captured on the first day of this year's German Spring Offensive.

While the actual number of prisoners at Limburg's surged, and the list claiming it only as their home camp grew, Allied armies leveraged gains made during their 100 Days Offensive and prepared for an assault on the formidable defence system, the Hindenburg Line. Incredibly, by this time in the war, the number of Allied P.o.W's imprisoned in Germany was approaching 2.5 million men.

With shouts from the guards tallying the camp's prisoners, Daniel soon formed into his respective work party line. They prepared to march out of the camp under escort for another twelve-hour workday. But as Daniel marched toward the camp's front gate, something caught his attention. He turned his emotionless expression and looked to his right. It was Ludwig, the camp guard. His face beamed with enthusiasm as he held up a paper announcement. He was about to post it on the camp notice board.

Straining his eyes to read it, Daniel mouthed the words to himself... 'CAMP CONCERT!' And below that was the date, 'Sunday, September 15.' Sunday was the only day of the week they had off from work. As the hint of a smile came over Daniel's face, something which had been absent for several days, Ludwig smiled back and yelled, "I may get my promotion after all!"

~

Camp Main Street

~

As Daniel glanced beyond Ludwig, he could see Sergeant Foley and Private McKay entering the Commadant's Office. General Exner had listened to Ludwig after all. The break from scheduled concerts had served its purpose, and Exner was eager to get the next event organised.

"Thank you for coming," General Exner offered, as Sergeant Foley and Private McKay walked into his office.

"Please have a seat, will you?" he stated.

Sergeant Foley followed the Commandant's lead, watching him sit behind his large, solid-looking wooden desk. Glancing then to several small framed pictures on his desk, most likely family members, the Sergeant's perspective of the man seemed, for the moment, more rounded. Tempering this thought, though, was the realization that he was sitting in the office from which orders made camp life more difficult or as in this case, more bearable.

Having convened a meeting to determine which pieces of music might be played at the upcoming concert, General Exner seemed reserved, yet hospitable.

"Have you prepared your list, Private McKay?" General Exner asked.

Private McKay answered politely. "Yes, I've chosen several pieces. I think you will appreciate the selections." He leaned forward, slightly out of his chair, and handed the Commandant a piece of paper.

"Thank you," Exner replied, taking the folded note. He quickly reached for his reading glasses and then put them on. Opening the prospective program, the General seemed to study it for a moment. "Hmm," he reflected, nodding his head. "You'll make a fine officer one day, Private McKay."

"Sir?" the Private replied.

"Yes, the ability to best utilize the resources at your disposal is not as common as you think, wouldn't you agree, Sergeant?"

"Yes, Sir," Foley stated, nodding.

Private McKay looked at Sergeant Foley as if he didn't know what to say.

The General continued to look over the list, before suggesting: "You've chosen wisely, Private. Most countries seem well represented."

"And you'll want to add some personal favourites, Sir?" Private McKay asked.

If the Private appreciated anything about the General, it was his ability to transcend the obstacle of rank. Though the achievement was more easily reciprocated by McKay, they were, nonetheless, equally able to focus on their mutual appreciation of music.

Exner grasped a piece of paper from his desk. "I do have a few pieces I would like to see included." He passed his list to Sergeant Foley. After perusing it he handed it over to Private McKay.

McKay glanced at it and then smiled. "Tchaikovsky," he said, enthusiastically. "This suits us just fine," McKay said, glancing toward Exner. "We're familiar with most of your selections."

With this aspect of business being concluded, the General seemed anxious to continue with other organizational items. He glanced at each of the men in front of him. "If you haven't anything further to add on this matter, I will come up with a final draft. Now, you know our combined orchestra will have only two more opportunities to practice, that being the morning and afternoon before the concert."

"What about the Saturday before, Sir?" Private McKay bravely asked.

Exner glared at the Private as if he didn't appreciate his boldness. "Absolutely not," he retorted. "Saturday must remain a day of work for everyone."

Again, Private McCay and Sergeant Foley made no rebuttal.

"By the way, this might relieve some of your concerns," the General acquiesced, picking another piece of paper from his desk. "Here is a list of Limburg's contribution to our concert."

~

French orchestra at Limburg

~

This time he handed it directly to Private McCay. The private nodded his head, as if he were impressed. The document listed both the instrument the musicians played, as well as the musical pieces with which they were accustomed.

"As you can see, Private," Exner said, with a hint of pride in his voice, "the instruments are as varied as their experience is considerable."

"Of course," the Private concurred.

Exner reached into his cigarette box and then tapped his unlit smoke on his desk. "I hope your... little club can keep up with them," Exner stated, as if to throw the gauntlet at his adversary's feet.

Sergeant Foley glanced at McKay and then back to Exner. "I think you will be pleasantly surprised, Sir," the Sergeant offered.

"I'm sure we will," the General suggested, sitting back comfortably in his chair. He lit his cigarette and took a long drag. "Oh, and before you leave, Private, there is one more thing I would like to mention before the Sergeant and I talk over some logistical matters."

"Sir."

"Once the program is finalized, I want no spontaneous additions," the Commandant stated, firmly. "What I mean by that is... I want no impromptu marching songs and no exhibitions of bravado."

"Of course, General," Private McCay said, glancing and looking, again, for the Sergeant's concurrence.

"I want this concert to proceed without incident. If it does, it will be the model for future endeavours. If it doesn't, it will be the last of its kind. Am I understood?"

"Understood, Sir," McCay quickly concurred.

General Exner only had to look at the Sergeant.

"Of course, Sir," Foley nodded.

"Alright, then," General Exner said, before leaning forward in his chair, "I shall look forward to Sunday."

"Until Sunday, then, Sir," Private McCay added, before getting up from his chair. Walking toward the door, he left the Commandant to continue with Sergeant Foley.

And so it was nearing the end of another long workweek, mid-day of the Saturday before the concert, when Sully was fulfilling his duties at the camp post office. Of the dozen other men that worked in the small half-sized barrack, Sully had the distinction of being the one who brought, shall we say, the most enthusiasm to work.

While this usually represented an asset to both Sully and his work mates, endowing him with the ability to accomplish a lot of work in a short period of time, on other occasions, it represented a distraction to those concentrating on their own tasks.

They were just finishing a bit of lunch. Sully had a tin of sardines, and two small pieces of bread with jam, and he was making his way over to the stove to put the kettle on for some tea.

"So will you be singing in tomorrow's concert, Callaghan?" Sully asked his fellow postal worker.

"Aye," Callaghan answered. "We've been rehearsing every day after supper."

Sully, Callaghan and Gilbert Massey were only three of ten men working in the post office this afternoon. All the letters and parcels had been delivered, and they were now on stand-by, as it were, waiting for the last overdue shipment of mail to arrive.

On most days, the place was filled with lads and letters as both represented the royal covenant of intersecting the latter with the former. While some sorted life-sustaining parcels, others recorded in ledger form, the names to which they were addressed. These lists would then be cross-referenced against an index card system containing the names and most up-to-date addresses of every prisoner registered to the Limburg Camp. The sheer scale of this index card system was to say the least, impressive. Though it boggled the mind of most, and represented a nightmare to the rest, to Sully, it was a monument to the art of organisation.

The unique ability to quickly find and pull a prisoner's card from one of several very large drawers became something of a talent of Sully's. As one of the ledger holders would read out a name to be cross-referenced, and another man held the letter or parcel to be re-addressed, Sully would loudly repeat the name while quickly looking for the prisoner's card. After finding it, he would glance at the card's information and, in dramatic fashion, would call out the prisoner's forwarding address. As the letters and parcels were sorted into bags in rapid succession, this otherwise monotonous process was buoyed by the enthusiasm Sully embodied. It was equally respectful, though, to those who were not aware that their loved one's final resting place would forever remain Limburg an der Lahn.

Though Sully's procedure for sorting Limburg's mail generally remained boisterous throughout, this afternoon the camp post office was, for some, pleasantly quiet. The latest compliment of letters had already been delivered directly to the men. Their parcels, as per camp rules, were also on route to the camp parcel office. The only thing left to do was wait, wait for the next soon to be delivered batch of mail to arrive. Taking advantage of the interim period, Sully stretched his legs again, figuring the tea had steeped enough.

Sully glanced at Callaghan, passing him on the way to the stove. "So can 'ya give us a little preview of what's to come tomorrow?"

As one man after another fixed themselves some tea and sat down in the somewhat cramped quarters, an air of relaxation competed with the smoke of freshly lit cigarettes.

Callaghan looked at his guitar in the corner. "We've been sworn to secrecy."

"What?" Sully laughed. He glanced from the guitar, back to Callaghan. "Your guitar has taken the oath as well?"

Callaghan talked slowly and with a deep voice. "She has, mate." His Irish lilt suggested life was to be taken in stride, whatever the circumstances.

"Can you not play anything for us, then?"

Callaghan grabbed the bowl of his pipe before replying, "Oh, I suppose I could find an uncommitted note or two." He turned to his mate. "Winthrop, have 'ya got tat old stick you call an Irish flute wit ya'?"

Winthrop's eyes opened wide. "You mean the one with the holes in it?"

"That'd be the one," Callaghan agreed.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he replied, pulling it from his inside coat pocket.

"Are ya a magician too, Winthrop?" Callaghan asked, of his old friend.

Winthrop ran a quick scale, before retorting, "Takes one to play along with the likes of you, doesn't it!"

But before the banter could continue any longer, Sully handed Callaghan his guitar. "Could 'ya play us something that'll remind us of better days?"

"We can, mate. We can," he said. He turned to Winthrop. "Why don't we give'm a rendition of the good old... Home Sweet Home."

As an afternoon of laughter and music caused the hours to pass like minutes and thus into a longing for home, the time waiting for the next mail delivery passed more quickly than anyone expected. So much so, that the post office's usual 6 p.m. closing time arrived almost unnoticed.

"Guess it's that time again," said Callaghan.

"Would ya' mind lockin' up again, Sully?" Gibby asked, after getting up from his chair.

"Don't worry, Gib, I'll take care of it." Sully agreed. "You lads be on your way. I'm sure supper will be waiting on you."

As the men slowly filed out of the Post Office, Sully fell into line and locked up on his way out. The guard, who normally took possession of the key, was nowhere in sight. This wasn't the first time this had happened, though. Most guards seemed to be getting more lenient during the last few months. There was a palpable sense that the end was near, that the German command couldn't hold out forever. Even Ludwig was becoming optimistic it would be over sooner than later. An end to the war was all that counted now.

After pocketing the key, Sully looked up towards the evening sun and figured he still had more than an hour and a half before sunset. It was time enough to get some supper and have another cup of tea with the lads. And then, as per their usual routine, he and Daniel would take full advantage of their last minutes before being locked into their barrack for the night.

"Sorry old boy," Sully stated, as they walked. "I'll look again on Monday."

Both Sully and Daniel drifted about within the vicinity of their bungalow. Each with their hands in their pockets, their unconcerned demeanour emulated the lack of any deed needing to be done.

"Thanks, Sully. I appreciate you watching out for it... the letter, I mean."

Sully tried to remain optimistic. "I'm sure it won't be much longer, Danny."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

### A turning point

Music hath charms to sooth a savage breast,

To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.

William Congreve

This morning's Sunday Mass had been widely attended, however even Father Crotty found it difficult to concentrate, while the finishing touches were completed on the concert stage. Hammering and sawing were but a few distractions that ultimately caused Father to uncharacteristically impart a shortened version of his Homily.

The stage, which was located in the southeast end of the camp, was built facing the perimeter fences of that same corner. From this point in the compound, it took advantage of a slow rise in the camp's geography. It was hoped this would allow spectators in the rear, closer to the fence, a subtly elevated perspective in order to see over those in front. The stage's proximity to the camp's front entrance was also intended to allow some of the Limburg town's people to attend the performance.

~

Outdoor camp Mass

~

Fall had beset the Limburg area with a warm breeze and near cloudless sky. The temperature was so favourable, in fact, that Daniel rolled up the long sleeves of his shirt. He, Sully, Hobber and Gibby were passing some time outside their barrack when Shaw arrived announcing the start of an afternoon football match.

"The French want a re-match! Anyone interested?" Shaw stated.

Sully was usually on for a good game, and his eyes instantly lit up with enthusiasm. "You coming, Danny?" he asked, stopping briefly before heading back into the barrack to get his gear.

"You go ahead, mate," Daniel replied. "I think I'll sit this one out."

"Anyone else?" Shaw asked, already dressed for the game. Seeing little more than apathetic stares, Shaw shook his head and grunted in disappointment. He then took off for the pitch.

As Daniel and the rest of the men talked and slowly made their way toward the playing field, an unknown man walked up and kept pace with the group.

~

Limburg playing field

~

"Excuse me," the light-haired man stated. "But, I'm looking for a Daniel Donoghue of the 2nd RMF?"

Daniel stopped first. It was obvious the man was American. "I'm Donoghue."

The remainder of the group slowed then stopped as well.

"Have you got a minute, then?" he asked.

"Of course," Daniel agreed. Perceiving the stranger would prefer to keep his comments private, he suggested: "You lads go on ahead. I'll catch up with you."

Allowing the other men to move on before he spoke, the man introduced himself. "My name is Frank Armstrong... Junior's older brother."

It was then that the resemblance became clear, the light-coloured hair, sharp nose and chin.

"Nice to meet you, Frank. I'm Danny," Daniel replied, but as if timing was Frank's adversary, Sully ran up to the pair. He was dressed in a dark blue short-sleeved shirt with matching shorts. Puttees were wrapped tightly around his shins, while his football shoes were the last of the ensemble sent from home.

To ease any apprehension, Daniel quickly made some introductions. "Frank, this is my good friend, Sully. Sully... Frank."

In the compound introductory handshakes were avoided. Every prisoner knew they drew unnecessary attention.

After Sully and Frank each exchanged a nod, Frank became more solemn. He ran his fingers through his hair. Then, as if preoccupied, he glanced to the left, before looking back at Daniel.

"I wanted to let you know that... Junior passed away last evening."

"Ah, Frank," Daniel responded, sincerely. "I'm very sorry to hear that. What happened?"

"The doctor couldn't stop the infection," Frank stated, pausing for a moment. "Father Crotty was by his side in the end."

Daniel seemed instantly dispirited. He turned to Sully to explain briefly. "Junior was a patient during the last overnight I worked in the infirmary."

Sully's disposition changed accordingly. "Sorry for your loss, mate."

"Thank you, both of you." Frank stated, before turning to Daniel. "I just wanted to express my gratitude for the time you spent with my brother. He spoke fondly of you."

"He seemed like a nice young lad, Frank."

Frank did his best to remain composed. "I also wanted to give you this." He held out a piece of paper. It was the poem Daniel gave to Junior.

"Junior said... he liked the flying part," Frank stated, while looking at the slip of paper.

Daniel resisted. "I think you should keep it."

Frank looked at Daniel as if the thought of holding onto it hadn't occurred to him. He then glanced back at the piece of paper. "I would like that, if you don't mind?"

"It's yours then, Frank."

Frank nodded his head, and then slowly put the poem back in his upper shirt pocket.

"There's one more thing," Frank added. His sombre demeanour transitioned to one of determination. He looked from side to side, and then lowered his voice. "My brother was going be the fourth member of our group... if you know what I mean." He paused and made eye contact with Daniel before continuing. "But after they took his leg... well, I just couldn't leave without him."

"I understand." Daniel offered.

"The reason why I'm telling you this is before he died," Frank said, pausing until someone finished walking by. Discreetly, he continued. "Before Junior died, he insisted that you to go in his place."

Daniel looked shocked, even more so than Sully.

"But I have no intention of escaping," Daniel stated, a little louder than he should have.

"Quietly!" Frank suggested.

"Sorry, but," Daniel began, half-flustered, "surely you can find someone who is more eager."

"It's too late for that. I've arranged for a diversion, tonight," Frank stated, taking them further into his confidence.

"Tonight?" Sully repeated.

Frank paid little attention to Sully, preferring instead to stay focused on Daniel. "Look, I'm only mentioning this to you out of respect for my brother's wishes."

Suddenly, it became clear to Sully. "Not the concert?"

Armstrong glanced at Sully, but admitted nothing.

"Believe me, Frank," Daniel continued, "I appreciate the value of what you are offering, it's just ... I have a family at home. It's too risky, for me."

"I'll say," Sully added.

After a moment of consideration, Frank looked as much relieved as surprised. "Alright, then... I suppose it's better that way. But, if you wouldn't mind keeping this conversation to yourselves... you know how these things go."

"You have our word," Daniel agreed.

Wanting to keep the exchange as brief as possible, Frank glanced, again, to his right and left. His demeanour remained as guarded as it was to the point. "If you don't mind, I'll be on my way, then. Thank you, again, Donoghue, and all the best... to the both of you." Frank nodded at Daniel and Sully before turning to walk away.

"Frank," Daniel said, raising his voice slightly. Frank stopped and looked back at Daniel. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Frank just nodded. "If you change your mind, let me know."

Only several minutes passed before Daniel watched Sully substitute into the game. Yet several more had to transpire before the adrenaline associated with Frank's conversation slipped from his disposition. It was still a pleasing afternoon, though, too nice to spend it worrying about overlooked opportunities.

The afternoon eventually passed, though, and so did another uneventful supper. Soon thereafter, they found themselves again in the presence of the camp's entire complement of men. It was the evening parade (roll call) and with all prisoners accounted for, General Exner saw fit to address the men and restate his expectations for this evening's event.

"Attention!" the General's adjutant barked.

The prisoners of Limburg loosely acknowledged the order.

The Commandant cast his eyes over a compound filled with hundreds of men looking back at him. "Soldiers of Limburg," he announced from outside his office.

Daniel and Sully looked at each other, realizing this was one of the few times he had ever referred to the men as soldiers.

"I would like to direct a brief statement to those who will be attending this evening's concert. First, there will be a number of special guests from the village who will be joining us for tonight's entertainment. As they will be here at my personal invitation, I must insist that you show them an appropriate level of respect. Anyone who does not... will find themselves straining to hear the next event from our camp's cells."

Many of the men laughed at the General's unusual display of humour.

"Secondly, I expect those attending to exhibit proper protocol. To this end, while the orchestra is playing, no distractions will be allowed. You are to remain seated at all times. If you must remove yourself, do so only during breaks between pieces. Remember, the after-dark curfew will only be suspended for those attending tonight's event. There will be one intermission at the mid-point in the concert, after which the compound will be off-limits. If you are not in the audience, you'd better be in your barracks."

"Thirdly, if tonight becomes a success, it will be the basis for future endeavours. If it turns out the strain of civility is too much to bear, I can assure you that tonight's concert will be the last of its kind."

"Have I made myself perfectly clear?" Exner shouted, pausing a moment to look back and forth over the men in front of him.

"Then, I say to you in the words of your famous English poet, 'Music hath charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.' To that, I would only add, let us all enjoy this evening!"

"Dismissed," was the command that allowed the men of Limburg to consider attending the concert. It was now less than a half hour away. As the men fell into smaller groups and talked over their appreciation, or lack thereof for this type of music, every single one of them coveted the fact that tonight they would be allowed to be out after dark. Moreover, when compared to being confined to barracks, it went without saying, anything was preferred over the way in which those same hours were normally endured.

But, as Daniel and a small group of men lingered about, Sully's attention was drawn the sound of a revving engine. It was the arrival of a truck at the front gate. From across the compound, Sully's eyes were affixed to it as it lumbered along. Surprisingly, though, after only a few moments, it stopped in front of the postal barrack.

Two older men pried themselves from the cab and then walked to the back of the vehicle. The one more nimble climbed into the back. In quick fashion, he passed the other a large bag. Then, a camp guard opened the building's locked door, allowing the man to deliver one, then two and finally three bags to the post office. Sully's suspicions were confirmed. The overdue mail they waited for yesterday had arrived.

Suddenly, an idea came to him. Wouldn't it be something if Daniel's letter was in one of those very bags? It wouldn't take that long, I could sort through them before the show even begins. Keeping these thoughts to himself, Sully made up his mind.

"You lads go on without me," he said, slapping Daniel on the shoulder.

"Where are you off to?" Daniel hollered.

Sully looked back at Daniel. "Hold me a seat, will you? I'll be right back."

Daniel and the rest of his mates wasted little time in finding a place to take in the show. From the benches behind those reserved for the Commandant, Daniel watched as Exner's officers, his off-duty guards and a surprising number of Limburg guests filed into their seats in front of him. It was still about fifteen minutes before the concert was set to begin, and about an hour before sunset, when Peter McKay and a few other men began handing out concert programs. When Daniel received his, he found it to be a medium sized sheet of paper with a fold in the centre. Creating a two-page booklet format, on the front cover it read:

~

The Limburg Camp

-

Presents

A Choral Concert Series

Conductor: Peter McKay

~

Opening it to view the program pieces, Daniel was surprised to find a number of composers he recognized. The following was printed on the left hand side of the fold:

First Part

~

1. Beethoven, 7th Symphony, 2nd Movement

2. Mendelssohn, Ruy Blas overture

3. Franz Schubert, 8th Symphony 'Unfinished' Movement 1 (1)

4. J.S. Bach, Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring, Choral

5. Mozart, Laudate Dominum, Choral

6. Jean Sibelius, Finlandia Hymn

7. Shenandoah, Choral (with dedication)

~

Intermission

~

And on the right hand side of the fold:

~

Second Part

~

8. Peter Tchaikovsky, Swan Lake Suite, Lake in the Moonlight

9. Claude Debussy, Clair de Lune

10. Richard Wagner, Lohengrin, Prelude to Act 1

11. Charles Wesley, Love Divine All Loves Excelling, Choral

12. Henry Frances Lyte, Abide With Me, Choral

13. Hubert Perry, Jerusalem

14. The Irish Blessing

~

With only moments to go before the concert was expected to start, Daniel looked over the heads in front of him. Where is Sully, filled his thoughts for a moment. Behind the rows of benches where he was seated, a multitude of soldiers were found to be filling a large open area. Though the ground there was somewhat elevated, it quickly left these patrons with the hope of being comforted in ways beyond what nature was willing to provide.

Still scanning forward, Daniel persisted in looking for his friend. But as time succumbed to the concert's imminent start, he finally gave up, keeping a space between himself and Shaw, on his left. The Hobber was on his right. And although time seemed to be running out for Sully, Daniel's concern was eventually confirmed when the Commandant got up from his seat and walked confidently up onto the stage.

Turning to the audience, the General smiled and nodded. While ignoring a chorus of almost inaudible boos, Exner exuded a demeanour of being pleased with himself. He seemed to relish the fact that his only remaining duty was to open the concert.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

### The Concert

Actions, not words, are the true criterion

of the attachment of friends.

George Washington

Ladies and Gentlemen, Distinguished Guests, Officers, and Soldiers of Limburg! Good evening. My name is General Exner, and it is my great pleasure to welcome you here tonight to another Limburg Camp musical and choral presentation. I don't mind saying that I am hopeful this will resume a series of concerts where we are all united by our mutual love of music!"

"Before we begin tonight's entertainment, let us please take a moment to recognize the effort put forth by those, who without their hard work, this event would not have been possible."

General Exner then introduced his Adjutant Major Hoffman, Sergeant Foley, and several other groups, all of whom were involved in tonight's preparations. A polite, but unenthusiastic applause followed.

"As you will see in your program, the concert will be approximately one-and-a-half hours in length, and there will be an intermission between the first and second parts. Let me also bring to your attention the diversity of the compositions on the program. I think you will agree with me when I say, it is pleasing to know most nations here tonight will be very well represented."

"And so, without further delay," he said turning toward the side of the stage, "I present to you... the musicians of Limburg."

Daniel joined in the applause, although he was captivated by Exner more than anything else. It seemed as if he were witnessing a dimension of the man he had never seen before. He resembled a man in a uniform more than a commandant. The General smiled and nodded, acknowledging the warm reception.

With the General's announcement, fifteen musicians walked up onto the stage. Those from the villages of Limburg and Dietkirchen were equal in number to the Allied contribution, while the former accounted for more of the wind instruments than the latter.

"And their Conductor," Exner added, to a continuing round of applause, "Private Peter McKay."

Bowing to the audience, General Exner departed and gave the stage over to Private McKay.

While the musicians seated themselves toward the right part of the stage and began to carry out their pre-concert tuning, if one listened intently they could almost distinguish their instruments. Of the woodwinds there were two clarinets, one flute and one oboe. From the brass, one French horn, one trombone and two trumpets. As for percussionist, his was the only one timpani-like drum left in Limburg. Finally, two cellos complimented the violins, with McKay doing double-duty, his being the lead of the three. And as if one could forget, Private Callaghan and his guitar were conspicuously present. Sensing the tuning process was nearly complete, Conductor McKay began to make eye contact with his various musicians. By this time, General Exner smiled with a sense of satisfaction before sitting down in the front row.

To his right sat a complement of his officers. On his left there were dignitaries from the village of Limburg. With the Mayor appearing to possess the wisdom of the eldest, all of those attending seemed to reflect the fact that those younger in age, males in particular, had left for the war long ago. As Daniel intermittently looked in vain for Sully, Peter McKay stood holding his violin in front of his musicians. He then opened the performance by announcing its first musical piece.

"First, I would like to say, on behalf of the musicians of Limburg, thank you for joining us for this very special event," he stated, before clearing his throat of a little nervous energy.

"Our first piece of the evening is from a composer I'm sure most of you know, Ludwig van Beethoven. It is the 2nd movement of his 7th symphony."

Private McKay turned to his orchestra. Placing his own violin at the ready, he motioned with a nod for the piece to begin.

With the symphony unfolding both softly and slowly, it was as if all present leaned forward ever so subtly. When the melody faintly grew, and everyone listened intently, to a man they became united by their expressions. A profound desire to let the beautiful notes creep into their souls caused the audience slowly sit back. A semblance of a smile adorned each and every one of their faces.

For many, this was something they had seldom heard. These, the novices of the audience, soon found their spirits pleasantly buoyed, floating as they had never done before. The camp, even the war itself became dislodged and pushed aside. Something more pleasant soon rushed in and was welcomed in its place. They had indeed been lifted beyond any earthly confinement.

For those familiar with the orchestral experience, they too had been transported somewhere beyond the camp's walls. In glimpsing a recollection from the past, they were both part of this audience and in part captivated by a memory of one much grander, some several years ago. There, they existed in a time and place before this camp, before this war. Yet just as the pleasant experience began to take hold, several minutes had unexpectedly passed. Time itself seemed to evaporate into thin air. Suddenly, without notice, the piece concluded.

But, as McKay turned to introduce the next arrangement, the imaginations of all present lurched. Pulled backward toward reality, it was as if each one of them desired another dose of a newly discovered intoxicant. Silence reigned for a moment as the conductor awkwardly looked on. Then realizing they wanted... nay, demanded more, a spontaneous applause broke the silence. As it rose, and then roared, Peter McKay breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He let loose an unabashed smile. Then after taking a few deep breaths the private regained his composure. He couldn't help letting the admiration of the audience sink in. And so he did, before announcing the next piece of music.

Keeping his verbal contribution to a minimum, he stated, "Our next selection, as you will see in your program, is from Felix Mendelssohn. It is called the 'Ruy Blas Overture.' I hope you like it."

Again, the orchestra began, this time in a very dramatic fashion. Being equal to it, Conductor McKay stood before his orchestra and was every bit as expressive.

Drawn into the arrangement, every civilian, every officer, but most importantly, every prisoner found themselves on a breathtaking excursion of memories. While most were pleasant, some of the striking elements elicited tragic and unwanted flashbacks. If anything, it was an illustration of life in its extremes. Fortunately, though, its soaring and uplifting components were equal to the task of evicting any undesirable thought. And within the wonderful overture, the men soon found themselves carried from the depths of disillusionment to the heights of optimism.

"Thank you," McKay concluded. Amidst thunderous applause, he smiled again. This time proudly and confidently.

The third piece, 'Schubert's 8th Symphony,' began and concluded in similar fashion, before the concert evolved into its most pleasing phase.

"Our fourth arrangement this evening is a choral piece," the conductor suggested. "It will therefore include the perfect complement to any orchestra, the voices of an inspired choir. So, if you would be so kind, please join me in welcoming our very own... Limburg Choir!"

With Private McKay leading the audience in applause, no fewer than a dozen soldiers walked onto the stage, this time from the left side. In their best available uniforms, they each took their places, on the left of the stage, balancing the orchestra on the right. Each group was slightly tilted, in a sort of upside down V. While those near the centre were further back, the men at the stage's left and right were closer to the front. Again, the conductor turned to face the orchestra and choir.

With a wave of his bow, the subtleness of violins and oboe accompaniment carried everyone aloft on their own melodic journey. Only moments passed before the male choir struck a chord with the souls of all present. The men's stirring voices gave everyone a reason to pause, to relish being taken pleasantly by surprise. It was Bach's, Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring. Daniel, for one, was so impressed, he instantly resolved himself to join their group. He couldn't help thinking of his family back home. He thought to himself: someday we have to experience this together, as a family.

As his thoughts drifted from his two young boys to his beautiful wife, unknowingly he sought a more comfortable seating position. He put his left hand down on the vacant seat beside him. Another matter instantly entered his mind – Where in Heaven's name is Sully?

Unbeknown to Daniel, Sully was involved in his own dramatic sequence. On his good friend's behalf, he was feverishly sifting through three fresh bags of mail. If the letter Danny is waiting for is in one of those bags, he thought, I want to find it for him now, not on Monday.

If Daniel was heartened with 'Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring,' he was equally impressed by the next piece, a rendition of Mozart's 'Laudate Dominum.' This and others would in turn captivate the audience for their entire duration until the final choral arrangement was announced by Conductor Peter McKay.

"For this our final piece of the first part of our concert I would like to offer a dedication. As you may know, in our attempt to offer selections from each country represented here at Limburg, we made every effort to respond to requests made by each nationality. Our American contribution is the wonderfully melodic... 'Shenandoah.' If you would allow me, I would like to, on behalf of his brother Frank, dedicated this lovely piece to Jack 'Junior' Armstrong. His name has unfortunately been recently added to our camp's Honour Roll."

In turning to face his orchestra, Private McKay and his solo violin introduced the beautiful melody. His instrument's lower tones were haunting, yet very soulful. Completing a solo introductory verse, at first only the tenors lent their voices in accompaniment. Then with the arrangement unfolding, the remaining baritones and bass singers were a perfect compliment. With their brilliant harmony, the piece expanded as much musically as it did spiritually. The audience was in awe of the ageless song; so much so that, with its conclusion and subsequent announcement of the intermission, everyone remained motionless. Was it the beautiful arrangement? Or was it the fact that nobody wanted to lose their seats and possibly miss the second half of the performance.

Either way, Daniel quickly received the wholehearted endorsements from two previously committed skeptics. And as the Hobber and Shaw remained the subjects of Daniel's teasing, the break in the music came and went with little notice, save for an increasing anticipation of Sully's return.

Dusk soon began to descend. It was at this point that something unexpected happened, sending everyone into a state of shock. Two searchlights came on, each from the nearest guard towers. They instantly illuminated everything in their path. Not surprisingly, everyone assumed the tower guards were responding to an escape in progress. Groans underwrote the gathering's expectations, that the concert would be cancelled by an order to answer a hasty roll call. But to their pleasant surprise, when the lights were turned and pointed in the same direction, applause rose from the crowd. The stage became lit.

While under the light's glow, Daniel looked toward the stage and found several of the musicians re-tuning their instruments. Realizing only minutes remained until the start of the concert's second part, he glanced side-to-side, looking for his friend.

"Does anyone know where Sully is?" he asked.

"The last I saw of him, he was heading for the post office," Hobber added.

Shaw extended his head up over the crowd. "There he is, there," he exclaimed, looking off some distance to his right. "If he hurries," he laughed, "he might just make it before the music begins."

While Sully walked briskly toward the audience, Daniel stood up and waved his friend over. At the same time, Peter McKay walked onto the stage to begin the second segment. He bowed slightly during an appreciative applause.

McKay announced to the audience the second part of our program would begin with a piece selected by none other than General Exner. McKay looked in the Commandant's direction. "Being a long-time admirer, the General has helped make this composer a favourite of mine as well. His name is Peter Tchaikovsky. This piece is from his Swan Lake Suite and it is called... 'Lake in the Moonlight.'"

As McKay turned to his orchestra, and looked to beckon their best performance yet, Sully made his way through the row to where Daniel, Hobber and Shaw were seated.

"Where have you been?" Daniel whispered loudly. Sully sat down beside him.

"I've been busy," he responded, rather matter-of-factly. Taking a moment to settle himself, he slowly pulled a letter hidden within his shirt. Then turning to Daniel, he smiled.

"You didn't?" Daniel gasped.

Sully held out the envelope. "Is your name Daniel Donoghue?"

"Sully," Daniel stated, taking the letter from his hand. "I don't know how to thank you."

Daniel forced open the letter as the music began. The soft and pleasant clarinet complimented the violins, each weaving themselves deeply into the consciousness of every listener.

While Sully and Shaw intently lent their ears to an unfolding musical drama, they couldn't have known another was playing out right beside them. Now reading slowly, the bright spotlight shining behind Daniel was just enough to illuminate the letter in his hands. The expression on his face reflected the passion of the piece, as he continued to read. Sully glanced from the stage, and then to his mate, and then back to the stage. With the letter consuming Daniel's attention, the music was winning at holding Sully's.

Shaw, sitting on the other side of Daniel, was also completely captivated by the orchestra, but as the music played on uncontrollable visions flooded into his mind. Memories of the battlefield at Vimy Ridge surged forth. Unwilling to commemorate the horror, the music enticed other images to resurface. As if reliving the scene from near the crest of Vimy Ridge, Shaw felt himself clawing his way to the top. Looking back, carnage attempted to wield its reign over the desolate landscape, as death and misery competed for supremacy. While they were locked in their own struggle, to Shaw, something more redeeming began to emerge. As his Canadian brethren crawled with him to the top of Vimy, Shaw looked beyond the ridge and saw something he would not soon forget.

On one side of the crest there was only agony and misery, while on the other, a pastoral panoramic unaffected by war. In addition to seeing a conquered and fleeing enemy, the countryside of the Douai plane was surprisingly pristine. Spring appeared to be in full bloom. In this incredible moment, Shaw understood the dichotomy of perspectives, and they couldn't be more profound.

While blacks and greys were a solemn representation of the past, green, red and yellow seemed to brilliantly define the direction he was all too willing to embrace. Even more splendidly, though... daffodils, violets and primrose amidst a sea of emerald green grass were a testament not to death... but to life. After standing up, he remained hopelessly captivated. He glanced to his left, at a fellow soldier who had just joined him at his side. His eyes were drawn to his brass shoulder title. It was muddied, but he knew what it said... CANADA.

He stared at it for what seemed an eternity before looking forward again. In that instant, looking beyond Vimy Ridge, he realized he would indeed return to his adoptive homeland, to the beautiful mountains and endless prairie fields through which his recruitment train had passed. His new home would be an ocean, not of blue, but of gold, of golden windblown wheat, the sea of which was met only by the horizon.

A thought, moreover a truth, suddenly became ingrained in his mind. Yes, in his soul he would forever remain Irish, but in his heart, he knew he had just become a proud Canadian.

~ ~ ~

Daniel folded up his letter, put it into his envelope, and then held it in his lap with trembling hands. His right knee bobbed up and down uncontrollably, as if he were keeping time with the pace of the music. However the fact he was out of rhythm indicated his mind was preoccupied by matters beyond those unfolding in front of him. As the orchestra continued through a dramatic part of piece, Sully turned to his side and looked at his friend.

"Is everything alright?" His words were barely audible over the music.

While looking at the stage, Daniel only nodded his head up and down. The glaring extremes of the arrangement underscored the range of feelings felt by everyone present.

Sully was distracted, again, after looking a little further down the row of listeners. Just beyond Daniel he could see another spellbound friend, Gerry.

"Gerry," he whispered, but no reply came. Gerry was, himself, somewhere else.

~ ~ ~

During the attack on 'V Beach,' at Gallipoli, he looked forward and saw his commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Quinn. He was out front, leading the charge. But, as one moment of mayhem was followed by another, it wasn't long before Gerry became witness to something he never could have imagined, the decimation of his fine battalion. Unfaltering, though, as their proud banner was, his commanding officer surged forward with his men, before he, himself, was mortally wounded. Gerry rushed toward him and knelt down by his side, quickly realizing the next few breaths would be his last.

Though the Chief lay bleeding before him, his eyes found Gerry's. After firmly grasping the private's arm, his superior's lips attempted to crack a smile. The moment became obvious to both men. In Gerry's expression, Quinn found contentment with his destiny; in death he would become one of the regiment's immortal after all.

In another memory, of the same campaign, Gerry shivered in a shallow dugout. Winter was upon them. Soldiers, from an Australian regiment, the 'Old Sixteenth,' suffered courageously, shoulder to shoulder with their allies. A steaming cup of broth was passed from one man to the next. To a man, they looked every part a sorry lot, as if left to survive in conditions that would surely put every virtue to the test, not the least of which, their fleeting sense of human dignity. Gerry's hands were wrapped in strips of cloth. They trembled as he passed the cup down the line.

~ ~ ~

As the Tchaikovsky piece neared its end, Daniel opened the letter to read it, again. Not the whole letter, just the important paragraphs. Like the one that referred to a previous letter, one that obviously never made it through to Limburg. As Daniel felt his reason for living diminish by a great measure, the letter fell into his lap again. Stunned by its contents, his mind was a torrent of thoughts, of one swirling into the other then still another unravelling within the turbulence of the next.

With the lack of any notion connecting itself to a purposeful deed, Daniel looked at Sully. Tears were forming in his eyes. But, his good friend was captivated, still awe-inspired by the song's final breath. For Sully, the last thought pulled from his memory was one, which had been etched in his mind near the beginning of the war. It was a Christmas memory; one which found them at a loss for anything to offer the other.

~ ~ ~

While standing in front of the small, fledgling Christmas tree, Sully turned to his friend.

"You're thinking of home, aren't you?"

Daniel nodded. "Of better times."

As a result of almost starving to death, they each looked like thinner versions of themselves.

"I understand, mate," Sully reflected. "You know, despite what we've been through, as long as I live... and that might not be much longer," he said, chuckling, almost emotionally. He looked at Daniel. "As long as I live, mate, I will never forget this Christmas."

Daniel turned to his friend and realized to what Sully was referring. That so as every friendship is expanded by the height of its adventure, so it is fortified, and made unbreakable by the depths of its shared experience.

"Nor will I, mate. Nor will I," Daniel repeated, patting his friend on the shoulder.

~ ~ ~

As Sully returned to the concert and felt a surge in his soul's eternal light, he was still unaware to what degree a shroud had been drawn around his friend's.

Again the applause roared, indicating the end to another wonderful piece of music. This time it was a thunderous standing ovation. It was so loud and startling that it physically jolted Daniel, instantly returning him to reality. As his demoralized trance strained to retain its grip, Daniel could feel the fences closing in, the weight of a profound responsibility descend upon him. There was only one thing to do, he felt, and only one person could help him accomplish it. As Sully stood with the rest of the audience, and clapped his hands in tribute, he turned to Daniel and found him still sitting at his side.

"What's wrong, Danny?" he asked.

Sully slowly stopped clapping. His smile evaporated, in turn.

Daniel said nothing, only got up with the thrust of a newly found purpose. With Sully only having the opportunity to offer a questioning glance, Daniel bolted from his seat. After bumping into several of their mates on his way down the row, Daniel took off and was quickly out of sight.

"What's come over Danny?" Hobber asked, looking over at Sully.

As the concert continued, Sully was so perplexed he only shrugged his shoulders. His friend's behaviour was so unusual, at first he didn't know what to think or do. Sully slowly sat down with those around him. As questions slowly resolved themselves into answers, or at least probabilities, Sully realized he had to find his friend. Awkwardly, he stumbled through his mates, leaving the concert in the middle of Clair de Lune. He took a deep breath in the open, dark yard, before risking the run across the compound.

First he checked their barracks, to no avail; the Chapel, again no luck. As he continued, a quarter of an hour passed without a trace of Daniel. Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind. He dared to consider what was in that letter? Could Danny be that desperate? He knew he had to check one more spot. As he passed each successive barrack, Sully came around the corner of another building, knowing it was one of the American bungalows. There, he found Daniel standing just outside its front door. In dramatic fashion, Daniel seemed to be concluding a discussion with someone just inside. Not seeing who it was, Sully walked further. There, his worst fears were confirmed. It was Frank Armstrong.

Upon seeing Sully, Daniel broke off his conversation and began walking back toward his own barrack. Sully looked at Frank, not knowing what to say. The tall American stared at Sully as if he were a merchant who had just made a desperate deal for a distraught soul. Sully became frantic. Following closely behind his friend, he repeatedly questioned Daniel about what was wrong.

"Danny," he shouted, as he ran to catch up. "Danny, stop! For God's sake, what's wrong?"

Sully feared the worst, as his friend continued walking as fast as his legs would allow. His stride was as heavy as it was determined.

Finally making it back to their barrack, Sully followed Daniel inside. He cornered him, while the concert played on. The terrible drama, which had been unfolding in Daniel's mind, was now made known to Sully. With determination accompanying the expression of a man compelled to act, Daniel yielded no quarter to his hasty plan. Sully pursued his friend's sense of better judgement, but his efforts seemed futile.

Another soldier, who was quietly returning to his own bungalow stopped and looked in the barrack's open door. Unable to decide which display was more compelling, he glanced from the barrack to the stage and back again at Daniel and Sully. From his perspective, their voices were for the most part, indiscernible over the volume of the music. As they argued, sometimes vehemently, the last piece of music was offered, wonderfully played, and completed in turn. Daniel and Sully's own drama consumed them, as time passed almost unnoticed. It wasn't long before the two of them were completely unaware of the concert's conclusion.

The sound of continued applause permeated Daniel and Sully's barrack. Unaffected by it, they stood in defiance of the other's position. Again, their voices began to rise as the hour of a predetermined deadline neared. Frank was eager to take full advantage of any opportunities the concert afforded to both them and their effort. Then, without their knowing, the attention of the soldier standing just outside the barrack door was drawn over toward the stage.

Unbeknown to Daniel and Sully, Frank Armstrong's plan was already in motion. One of the musicians, the only American, began playing the melody to the American patriotic song, 'My Country, Tis of Thee.' Using his violin, it was his and Frank's intention to throw the concert into a frenzy, knowing the same music underscored the anthems of both England's 'God Save the King,' and Germany's 'Heil dir im Siegerkranz.'

Fearing this would instantly set off a spectacle of patriotism General Exner stood up and began to wave at those on stage. He was insistent that the music be stopped. Unfortunately, though, with patriotism being the seed able to gain a foothold in a desert of encouragement, things quickly got out of hand.

Suddenly, several other musicians joined in. Thereafter, the German soldiers in the audience came to attention. They began singing their anthem. This quickly riled the dispersing audience, especially the English.

As the soldier standing outside Daniel and Sully's barrack alerted them to the unexpected theatrics, Sully broke off his altercation with Daniel and quickly came to the door's threshold. He couldn't believe his eyes or ears. By now they were halfway through the first verse of the German national anthem. Being unable to contain his already elevated level of frustration, Sully shouted at Daniel.

"Promise me you'll wait here until I get back."

Daniel made no gesture, and thus no promise. Sully looked at Daniel. Both of their expressions were longing, as if they would never see each other again. Standing in the doorway, Sully looked toward the stage. Chaos reigned there. "Frank!" he muttered, knowing full well who was responsible. Then glancing once more at Daniel, he instantly knew what to do, both for his countrymen, and his troubled friend.

"Then let me do one more thing for you," he hollered at Daniel.

For a moment, Daniel stared at Sully.

There was only one thing left to say. "Goodbye, my friend," Daniel quietly said.

With tears in his eyes, Sully then turned away. He began to run for the stage. By this time, men were rushing toward the concert from all directions. Both Irish and English prisoners arrived at the same time as did German guards from all corners of the camp. In addition, every watchtower seemed to train its spotlight on the stage. They became locked on the unfolding disturbance. By now the German musicians from Limburg were playing their anthem with unabashed enthusiasm. After arriving at the spectacle and jumping to the stage, Sully grabbed Mckay's conductor's wand. McKay seemed paralysed by shock. Sully took one look back in the direction of the barracks and caught a glimpse of Daniel, Frank and the two others making their way toward the parcel storage building. Realising the following minutes were crucial to both efforts, Sully began to organize the choir and the orchestra to chime in on his instructions.

With the German singers coming to the point of starting their second verse, in a demonstrative fashion, Sully raised his hands. McKay's wand was in his right. At just the right moment, he and the rest of the British prisoners began to sing God Save the King. Initially, as each belted out their own rendition, their own words to the same melody, it seemed a fair choral duel. While guards and prisoners energetically carried the same tune, several of the men, both German and English, looked at each other and smiled. A bemused Ludwig looked at Sully and shook his head. Both men were pleasantly surprised at how well the two versions sounded side by side. General Exner was, by this time, fully involved in the patriotic demonstration.

As many more British and Irish prisoners took part in the nationalistic raucous, and the ending of the first verse of God Save The King neared, that version of the melody was beginning to gain the upper hand. Sully couldn't have been more pleased, as he conducted both the orchestra and all singers involved. For Sully, it had become a matter of pride. The banner of victory, choral victory in this case, would be carried without question, without any misunderstanding. To this end, Sully whipped up the men for their best effort, and in one final rendition he encouraged the voices of every Englishman, Irishman and Allied soldier alike.

~

God save our gracious King!

Long live our noble King!

God save the King!

Send him victorious,

Happy and glorious,

Long to reign over us:

God save The King!

~

As they finished the verse in turn, General Exner looked every part the dejected adversary. In his eyes, it looked as though the climax to his wonderful concert was not only beyond his control, it was foretelling an inevitable future. In his expression, capitulation spoke for him. As he conceded victory in his own mind, he threw up his arms and sat down. The only thing he could do was shake his head.

By now, smiles adorned the faces of all singers, save for the Germans, of course. Allied prisoners of every nation took part as their own flag was raised in each of their hearts. Truly, at this instant, all present felt they knew how the war would end.

Now with his goal all but accomplished, Sully was alerted by Hobber to the fact that several guards were not only pointing toward him, but pursuing him as the instigator.

"Da ist er. Holen Sie ihn," "There he is. Get him!" They shouted.

Sully jumped down from the stage, and, without looking back, he quickly ran off, letting the darkness consumed him.

By now, Daniel was on the other side of the camp's fence. Using the parcel office as cover, they took full advantage of the unfolding crisis and cut their way through the fences behind the building. As he and the others huddled safely in the woods, they spoke briefly, reinforcing how the remaining hours of the night would unfold. In hushed voices, Daniel listened intently to his instructions. No matter what he felt now, how impetuous his act, if Daniel understood anything, he knew for certain there was no turning back.

In the time it took to recognize this, a new resolve began to take hold in his troubled mind. He needed to make it home, not for himself or for Mary, but for his boys. His life was now dedicated to their sake alone. A vision of Steve and Dave came to him. He seared it into his consciousness. In doing so, he made a promise. It was a covenant between himself and his young boys. And until this next segment of his life played out, one way or another, Frank and the two other escapees were part of it too.

Suddenly there was a noise coming from the trees... just beyond the spot where the four of them were crouching.

"Quiet," Frank said, in a hushed voice.

With the fear of being discovered, no one dared to whisper a word.

Leaves rustled as one twig snapped and then another. Were the Germans hot on their heels?

The air vibrated with the pounding of their hearts. The sound seemed to get closer and closer, but just as Frank was about to give the order to disperse, Daniel announced: "Sully! What the bleedin' hell are you doing here?"

CHAPTER TWENTYNINE

### On the run

Obstacles cannot crush me,

every obstacle yields to stern resolve.

Leonardo da Vinci

Frank couldn't believe his eyes. "You have to go back."

"Sully," Daniel lamented, "you shouldn't have come." His regretful tone reflected the predicament his good friend had got himself into.

"I couldn't let you do this alone."

Frank was obviously frustrated. "Sully, does he look alone?"

Sully glanced at the men on either side of Daniel. They were all crouched on one knee, taking advantage of a thickly wooded area some fifty yards from the camp fences.

"Umm," Sully responded. "There is one other thing."

"We don't have enough supplies for five," Smitty, the other American, interjected.

"What's the other thing?" Daniel asked.

Sully looked somewhat sheepish. "Well, I've sort of got myself into a bit of a spot back at the camp."

"What do 'ya mean?" Frank asked.

"He's right." Daniel agreed. "He did it for us."

"Did what? We had it covered," Wilson, the fourth escapee stated.

"Do you hear that?" Daniel asked.

Listening closely, they could still faintly hear the boisterous raucous Sully left behind. As the last groups of prisoners were forced by the butt of a gun to return to their barracks, some still sang songs in defiance of their captors.

"He's got the whole camp in an uproar," Daniel implored. "It'll be morning before they realize we're gone."

Daniel was right. Although a hasty roll call could be expected after such an occurrence, tonight General Exner was too busy apologizing to his guests. While the escapees debated, the Commandant was seeing Limburg's elders out the front gate.

"Alright, then," Frank reluctantly agreed. "But he's going to have to be your responsibility."

Daniel glanced at Sully. "Isn't that always the way of it?"

"Let's get out of here," Smitty pleaded.

Frank wasted no time in taking charge. "We'll have to split up from here. Danny, it's you and Sully." Looking at the others, he ordered, "Smitty, Wilson... you're with me." He turned his attention back to Daniel. "Now, you've only got the one pack, so go easy on the food. Find what you can along the way."

Daniel nodded his head in agreement.

"Have we a map, or compass?" Sully asked.

Wilson threw a glance at Frank. "At least someone was prepared." His accent was American, but his tone and demeanour were heavily sarcastic.

Frank's expression smouldered between regret and resolve. He thought of his brother then quickly focused in on Daniel. "Take Junior's pack, it's got most of what you'll need."

Sully sneered at Wilson. "No need to get your nose out of joint." he exclaimed. "I'm only trying to get a grip on our chances."

Frank was in the mood to be blunt. "Your chances, Sully, are slim to nil."

"Well, then... Saint Jude will be hearing from us!"

"St. Jude?" Daniel dared to ask.

"He's the patron Saint of lost causes... I think he was Irish."

Daniel's spirits were instantly lifted. He reflected, for a moment, on how happy he was to have Sully along.

"And our chances won't be much better if we stay here any longer. Remember," Frank continued, looking alternately at Daniel and Sully. "Sleep by day and travel by night. Avoid villages and towns. Stay off the roads and don't risk using any bridges. Only cross rivers up or down stream. If you abide these simple rules, you'll stand a better chance."

"Now," he continued, after taking a breath, "this is important, so listen carefully. Head west by north-west for three nights. You'll do about 8 to 12 miles a night. That'll get you close to the Rhine. From there, march only west for the better part of ten days. After that, make your way north until you reach Holland."

Both Daniel and Sully paid close attention to Frank's words. Each of their expressions belied the fact that they were about to embark on the most harrowing journey of their lives.

"Did you get all that?" Sully asked Daniel.

Throwing the pack over his shoulders, Daniel nodded. His silence suggested he were committing the facts to memory.

Sully glanced at the other three men. "We're off, then," he said, understating the severity of the circumstances.

"Good luck," Frank suggested, offering his hand.

"The same to you, lads," Daniel replied.

Exchanging handshakes, the two groups disappeared further into the woods in separate directions. After exiting the small forest into a clearing, Daniel and Sully were happy to jog for a while, as they passed through several open fields. Stopping only at the tree lines that separated one field from another, they both breathed heavily, but were more than happy to work off an overabundance of adrenaline. Every one of their senses was heightened as they increased their run to full tilt.

The ability to jump over wooden rail fences before traversing dangerous ditches, some of which were seen only at the last second, were but a few of the impulses orchestrated by a heightened mind. Though it was a moonless night, their intellect was a storm of activity, as they tried to keep pace with the unfolding landscape. Suddenly, memories began to infiltrate Daniel's consciousness, as flashbacks from his recent past were compared to the darkened silhouettes before him. Daniel realized he had seen this ground before.

In the time it took their adrenaline to dissipate, and for their instinctive thought process to yield to a more cognitive one, it came to Daniel before it did to Sully; the time spent working on local farms instantly became one of their most valuable assets. Daniel could never have imagined how poignantly his sweat and toil would be rewarded.

"Sully," Daniel called, in a low and husky voice.

Sully was running too hard to hear anything.

"Sully!" Daniel hollered, this time a little louder. "I think we should slow down a bit."

With both of them maintaining a healthy sprint, and Sully more than a dozen strides ahead of him, Daniel could sense himself teetering on a threshold. As each bound was followed by another, his mind was attempting to regain control. In true Daniel-like fashion he was reasserting the dominance of brain over brawn. He took a few deep breaths and slowed to a jog, and then a fast walk.

"Sully," he repeated, panting heavily. "Let's stop for a moment."

"Why?" Sully asked, slowing to a stop. "We're making such good progress."

"Yes," Daniel agreed, while walking toward him. "But we need to get our bearings. Besides," he paused, breathing heavily, "I think we need to be a little more methodical."

Having stopped, Daniel caught up with Sully at the edge of a hay field. The cover of a tree line stood only a dozen or so paces away.

"Let's take a moment to regroup." Daniel stated. Though he was trying hard to calm himself, his eyes were still wide with his primal flight instinct.

"Alright! Over here, then," Sully suggested, motioning to the safety of the trees.

Going down on one knee, Daniel wanted to make a point. Sully knelt and rested beside him.

"How far do you think we've come?"

"I'd say, a couple of miles or so," Sully replied.

"Do you remember anything about the ground we just covered?"

"What do 'ya mean?"

"What I mean is... I think we have to be more careful, move about more cautiously."

Sully nodded his head while taking a deep breath. "You're probably right," he admitted. "You'll have to forgive me for getting carried away. It's my first escape."

Daniel smiled, while working hard to gain control of his breathing. "Look, mate, I think I have an idea where we are."

"That's good because I think I'm at a loss for which direction we've been heading."

"The way I make it, if we've been running north, the Elbbach River should be off to our left," Daniel said, looking and pointing in a westerly direction. "It might be a good time to go through our pack and find the compass."

"And the map," Sully added.

Pulling the rucksack off his back, Daniel opened its flap. With only a small amount of moonlight at his disposal, he rummaged through its contents. Daniel stopped abruptly. He hadn't found anything resembling either item. For a moment he forgot what Frank had said earlier and a fearful thought came to him. What if they never meant to separate and there was only one map and one compass between the two packs?

"What's wrong?" Sully asked.

Daniel said nothing. Then hastily searching again, he suddenly realized there was an inseam pocket inside the pack. Opening it, Daniel was relieved to pull both the map and compass from the hidden enclosure. "Thank you, Junior," he said quietly to himself.

After confirming the direction in which they should venture, Sully slung the pack over his left shoulder. The pair then made their way through another field of hay.

"That must be the village of Offheim," Daniel said, as he followed Sully.

Walking under minimal moonlight, he was referring to the few faint lights off to their left. Daniel remembered Offheim was one of the small communities to the north of Limburg. After traversing another mile or so in a westerly direction, their first watery obstacle came upon them in the form of the Elbbach River. This confirmed again to both Daniel and Sully that they were in familiar territory. The Elbbach is a small tributary of the much larger Lahn River. Fortunately, the Lahn lay east of the Limburg camp, making it a line on their map they didn't have to navigate.

"Give me your arm," Daniel said holding out his right hand. Sully lowered his friend to the edge of the stream.

He looked up and down the darkened tributary. After taking a few tepid steps into the water, Daniel was pleasantly surprised. He took one step and then another on what appeared to be a solid stream bed.

"It's just a small stream. Come ahead!"

The slow moving water flowed by Daniel, barely reaching the laces of his boots.

As Sully followed Daniel up onto the opposing shore, they would soon be heralding their first water crossing as a success. Though the Elbbach would be noted primarily for that reason, and soon the obstacle it represented would be forgotten for more pressing ones, Daniel and Sully would soon find out there were seven yet to be forded. And of the seven, one would pose a significant challenge.

"We need to find a place to hide for the day," Daniel stated.

Sensing the onset of daybreak, a newly found desire to locate a safe place in which to sleep came over both Daniel and Sully at the same time. It was as if the impending dawn resurrected that same prehistoric instinct, an ancient desire to survive. For the time being, they would have to live nocturnally. At least as much as those with whom they had just shared the night.

"Should we check in our bags before going to the dining room for breakfast?" Sully joked.

Daniel's head jerked to the side. "Sshh!" he retorted. "Someone's coming."

The two of them dropped into a crouching position. Having emerged from a fairly large forest of both coniferous and deciduous trees, they found themselves only a dozen yards from a roadway. A shallow ditch and farmer's fence was all that separated them from what appeared to be a bicyclist coming down the road.

They both fell flat to their stomachs, keeping their heads down as the sound of rubber tires on gravel indicated the rider was getting closer. Daring a glance, Daniel raised his head slightly.

"What do you see?" Sully whispered. His head was turned to the side, facing Daniel.

Just then an elderly gentleman rode by. A large empty basket was attached to the front of his bicycle.

"At this hour," Daniel whispered, "I'd say he's a local farmer."

As his eyes followed the peddler beyond view, he got up to a crouching position. He then attempted another look up and down the road.

Sully came alongside Daniel with a suggestion, "What about that stand of trees over there?"

Sully and Daniel looked across the road to a large open field of tall grass. There appeared to be a small, but isolated forest near its centre.

"We'll have to hurry. We don't have much time," Daniel stated.

With darkness slipping from the grip of night, Sully got up first; he was closely followed by Daniel. From the fence, they quickly peered up and down the road. Finding it clear, Daniel took Sully's lead and leapt over the obstacle. In only moments they were across the road. Instinctively, they ran in a crouched position, as if an imagined height restriction had been self-imposed. While bobbing and weaving, they looked side-to-side, all the while covering the couple of hundred yards to the awaiting forest. After stopping only several strides into its enclosure, Daniel turned and looked backward. He watched for any sign of activity, for anyone who may have seen them enter the forest.

Feeling they had made good their concealment, Daniel looked at Sully and then passed him walking deeper into the woods.

"Let's see if we can't find someplace dry."

After only several minutes of walking, both men stopped and came to the same conclusion. This was as good a spot as any to put in the day getting some sleep.

"Maybe we should see what's in the kit," Sully suggested.

"Alright, you do that while I have a look at the map."

With the light of day now testing the perceived safety of the forest, another drama was playing out back at the Limburg camp. Commandant Exner was being handed a list of those unaccounted for. An angry expression spoke for him. The piece of paper was crushed within his grasp. Limburg had seen its last concert.

Sully continued pulling out the pack's items, the first; an old wine bottle wrapped in cloth and string. After uncorking it, he took a sip. "It's only water," Sully lamented.

Further items included tea, tinned beef, packets of biscuits, and tins of oxo cubes to be converted into a hot drink. Additional tins of condensed milk were followed by a pocketknife, a 'Morfed' can opener, matches, a pocket torch (battery-powered flashlight), a tube of boracic ointment for scrapes and a small handbook with pencil inserted in its binding. This, Daniel surmised, would help chronicle the passage of time in order to keep track of what day it was. It was also common camp knowledge that, in case of recapture, any narrative should be written in code.

While Sully continued to look over the contents of their pack, Daniel was looking closely at their makeshift map. It was a pencil trace over copy, not an original.

"I make it two more days before we have to cross the Rhine."

"What's this?" Sully interjected. Daniel looked up from his map as Sully opened a medium sized tin box.

"Oh, that's..."

"They're letters from home." Sully interjected, flipping through a couple dozen of them.

"I grabbed as many as I could before leaving."

Sully just nodded and closed the tin. "Keepsakes, I'm sure," he said. He then placed the box back in the haversack with the rest of the items.

With the letters eliciting a change toward a more sombre disposition, Daniel suggested they try to get some sleep.

Sully remembered the reason for their escape. He felt awkward for forgetting why they were there. "Of course," he replied.

As they both attempted to get comfortable on the damp, cool ground, Sully looked over to his friend.

"I never had a chance to say how sorry I am... about Mary."

Daniel fidgeted, as if his emotions made him more uncomfortable than the ground beneath him. For a moment, only the sounds of the forest coming to life could be heard. A light warm breeze pleasantly buffeted them and everything in its path.

"Thanks," Daniel said, before turning away from his friend.

"Mary was a wonderful woman," Sully added quietly.

Daniel didn't know how to respond. Referring to his wife in the past tense was something he couldn't bring himself to do.

It was sometime near late afternoon when Sully awoke abruptly. In the time it took him to realize where he was, he jolted his head to the side. He found the spot where his friend had been sleeping... vacated.

"Danny," Sully called, in a low and husky voice. He straightened his back to extend his gaze beyond the copse of trees in which they were hiding.

"I'm here," Daniel responded. He was re-reading his latest letter. His concentration was absorbed by it so much that he didn't move to acknowledge his friend.

"You startled me."

Daniel turned his head toward Sully, but his mind was somewhere else.

"This is the last time I leave the reservations up to you." Sully groaned while struggling to a seated position. He clasped his hands and rested his forearms on his bended knees.

Daniel looked back at his letter. As he tried to distract himself from Patrick's devastating announcement, he turned his attention to the damage collateral to Mary's death. Incredibly, the letter's toll continued, indicating that Ellen, Mary's mother, had passed away as well. Now tempering Daniel's loss, Patrick's appeared even more profound.

It seemed an illness, some type of influenza, which Mary must have contracted at the hospital, possibly from returning wounded soldiers, was beginning to extend the war's levy of human suffering. In his letter Patrick used the words 'possible epidemic,' before admitting that he, himself, had also become gravely ill.

'It is for this reason I have, with great regret, sent the boys to the safety of the countryside. The Marist Sisters' Orphanage in the Cotswold Hills have agreed to take them. Though I am not optimistic for myself, I remain faithful of your return. Please forgive me for sending the boys away, my intentions are only for their survival.'

As Daniel re-read Patrick's letter, one unwritten word leapt off the page: Orphanage! Though a new influenza strain was already claiming its first victims in London, its devastating potential wasn't fully understood. At this very moment, though, Daniel was less concerned with how Mary's and Ellen's deaths fit into the larger yet to unfold tragedy, and much more troubled with the immediate catastrophe facing his family. It required everything he had to keep his grief under control, to sequester his true feelings. He tried to think clearly.

But, as a result of his own boyhood memories, a terrible pain lingered in his stomach, one which had been there since he first read the letter. The only way to temper it, he found, was to focus on his determination, to suppress it, to harden his newly found resolve, to conquer it, to find the courage to follow through... on a promise.

"We've got to get going," Daniel sternly stated. He quickly folded the letter and put it away in his upper left shirt pocket.

"What about supper?" Sully asked, scratching his head. "Or is it breakfast... I've lost track."

Though Sully's initial expression was somewhat teasing in nature, he quickly acquiesced to his friend's single mindedness. He groaned again, as he stood up. He stretched out his arms, and then something in his back audibly cracked.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

"We'll have to eat on the way," was all Daniel offered. His demeanour seemed to converge on only one thought... making it home!

By the end of their second night they had successfully passed to the north of Koblenz, a significant and heavily populated German city. And by the end of their third, they reached their first major obstacle, the Rhine River.

Looking down upon it from the foothills above, the majestic river almost glistened under a moon, which was closer to its fullest exposure, than its first quarter. Overcast skies, which defined the first couple of days, were becoming more intermittent. Unknowingly, the area they had happened onto was within the general vicinity for which they had been angling. They were upstream from Bad Honningen and several miles south of Remagen.

Here, the shores of the Rhine are high precipices of exposed rock face and steep but heavily forested embankments. Flat agricultural lands abutted the river as well. Daniel and Sully both stopped and, for a moment, stared in a northerly direction. From their forested hilltop, they were almost pleased by the fact the nearly full moon lit up both the river and countryside.

The panoramic view was, indeed, impressive. "Now there's a view you won't soon forget," Sully quietly said.

Daniel looked through the treetops above him and noticed another bank of clouds moving in from behind them. "What time do you make it?" he asked.

"I'd say we've got a couple of hours till sunrise."

Daniel's mind was preoccupied with the business at hand. "I'd like to wait for those clouds to move in, but I'm not sure we have the time. Either way, we need to get down there to have a closer look."

"Alright, but I'm telling you right now, the only way I'm crossing that is with a boat."

"Then let's see if we can't find one to borrow." Daniel started down the hill in front of them.

"To borrow? Old Father Crotty would be proud of you."

Finding himself trying to keep up with Daniel during a steep and heavy-footed descent, Sully's attention was quickly drawn to a strange sound. Slowing and quieting his gate, his sense of hearing was heightened. It sounded familiar, something like the call of a curlew bird. He stopped, and listened further. Then, only moments later, it was the same quick and shrill melody. This time, though, it sounded unnatural, almost like a man-made imitation.

"Danny," Sully hollered, in a low and raspy voice.

"Danny. Stop!" he repeated.

"What is it?" Daniel stopped on the slope several paces below Sully. Looking back at his preoccupied friend, his inquisitive facial gesture beckoned an explanation.

"Listen," Sully suggested.

They both stood still. While each of them looked through the wooded hillside, Sully strained with anticipation.

Again, the familiar call sounded more like an alarm. It was followed by another, and then still one more. They seemed to be coming in threes.

Sully crouched down and took several quiet steps to close the distance between to a few low-lying bushes. In kind, Daniel joined him and bent down to one knee. "What is it?" he whispered.

"I think it's a patrol."

Daniel crunched down a little further. "A patrol?"

"Yes, I don't know why, but it reminded me of the call we used at the camp to announce a guard was coming."

Sully scanned the forest with eyes hoping to disprove his point.

"There," Sully whispered again, "near the clearing... at the base of the hill."

Daniel looked closely and saw someone moving slowly. The shadowy figure ducked in and out of the hill's tree line where it met a farmer's field below.

One more time the tune of the artificial curlew broke the silence of the night. This time it seemed to come from the man below them. Only seconds later there was another, then another, this time a little further away.

"Look," Daniel whispered, "just beyond the tracks."

"I see him."

They both looked on as a second man appeared from a small wooded area. He was just the other side of a set of railway tracks, running parallel to the Rhine.

Daniel's eyes were glued to them. "There must be a third. They seem to be moving off to the south, following the river."

Daniel and Sully continued to view the unfolding event from the perceived safety of a cluster of low-lying bushes.

"Do you think we've been spotted?"

Sully looked at Daniel. "What... you mean in the last day or so?"

They both paused for a moment as the sound of the birdcalls tracked the patrol's progress to the south.

"They seemed to be looking for someone, don't they?"

"It's either us, or someone else." Daniel agreed. They glanced at each other and then the farmland below, while the patrol disappeared further down the river.

After successfully locating a small craft on the riverbank, Daniel and Sully re-ascended the hillside and wasted little time finding a suitable place to rest for the day. Crossing the Rhine was a significant task, one that would have to wait until dark tonight. This fit conveniently with their recently devised plan of making river crossings closer to the beginning of their night's march rather than the end. If they got wet doing so, this would allow them dry off during the nighttime hours and prevent them from having to sleep through the day in wet clothes.

Settling down again for another fitful slumber, near a copse of fir trees, Sully's demeanour was anything but a precursor to sleep. Though he was physically exhausted, he seemed to be still mentally invigorated by their recent clandestine activities. Testing his friend's patience, he couldn't help but ask the burning question.

"Why'd you do it, Danny?"

Daniel tilted his head. "What do 'ya mean?" He lay on his side, facing away from Sully.

"Why'd you escape?"

A moment of quiet passed before Daniel rolled over. Looking upward he seemed to gaze well beyond the tops of the tall surrounding trees.

"You really want to know?"

"What I want to know is... why now?"

Daniel remained silent.

"Well?" Sully whispered, trying to prompt his friend.

"I made a promise." There was no reluctance in his tone.

"A promise," Sully repeated. "To Mary?"

Daniel turned his head and looked at Sully. "To Steven."

A moment of awkwardness prevailed, before Daniel continued. "It seems like it all happened a lifetime ago."

Sully agreed. "Didn't everything happen a lifetime ago?"

"It was just before I," Daniel corrected himself, "before we got our posting to India."

"I was sitting in bed with Mary..." Daniel stopped abruptly as if a wave of emotion came over him.

"I'm sorry, mate. I shouldn't have..."

"No it's alright. If I remember it correctly," Daniel said, as a smile struggled to gain a foothold. "We were having a difficult discussion about my latest posting."

"A difficult discussion," Sully joked. "Is that what she called it?"

~ ~ ~

"When do you have to leave?" Mary said, tearfully. "Promise me this will be the last time, Danny. Please promise me." Mary put her book down on the bedside table.

At this point in Daniel's military career, he was on a short leave in between postings. For the moment, two modest rooms in the rear of Mary's father's house sufficed as home for Daniel and his family.

"This should be my last posting," Daniel offered. His head slumped downward, before he looked up at Mary. He continued with an apologetic tone. "When I return I'll leave the army and find another job, I promise."

"Why do you have to bring this up now?" Mary asked. Her tone was infused with frustration. "I won't be able to sleep a wink tonight. Couldn't we have talked about this earlier, in the morning?"

"I'm sorry, Mary, I tried several times today... but you know how it is with the boys. We never have a moment to ourselves."

"Where are you going this time?" she dared to ask. Mary looked for her handkerchief, knowing tears would follow her husband's reply.

"India," Daniel announced. "The battalion is off to India."

"India?... That's half-way around the world. Why... the journey alone could kill you."

Mary stopped abruptly, wishing she hadn't used those exact words. Even tonight, finding the time to talk alone proved too elusive.

Mary sighed. "Steven. What's wrong?"

When Daniel looked up and saw Steven staring at them with his eyes wide open, his heart sank. Beyond the light of Mary's bedside lamp, the room was quite dark. As a result, neither Mary nor Daniel was sure how long Steven had been standing in the doorway.

"I can't sleep," Steven said, rubbing one of his eyes.

"Have you had a bad dream?" his mother asked with a soft tone.

Steve's lack of response quickly led Mary and Daniel to think Steve's young mind was trying to understand what he had just heard.

"Would you like someone to tuck you in?" his father offered. It was his first attempt to distract his young son from further thought.

Steve nodded in agreement. Mary's nurturing impulse caused her to down the covers to get up, however Daniel placed his hand on her arm. "I'll do it... I'll tuck him in this time."

Daniel got up to take Steven back to bed. After turning toward his room, Daniel placed his hands on Steve's small shoulders and guided him the short distance. Sharing his bedroom with his younger brother, David, they were ages six and four. Of the two, though, Steve was the only one having trouble sleeping tonight. After crawling back into the bed he shared with his brother, his father sat down at his side. This comforted Steve's spirit, but his mind was still troubled.

Steve didn't hesitate in getting straight to the point. "Are you going somewhere, Dad?"

"Let's talk quietly Steve," his father responded. After quietly opening the drawer in the small bedside table, he continued. "We don't want to wake Dave."

Realizing it would be more than the usual exchange of assurances, Daniel struck the match and lit the candle on the small bedside table.

"Yes, Steve, to answer your question, my battalion is being posted to India." The flickering light of the candle was a medium of trust and truth not evident in the darkness that befell the rest of the room.

Steve swallowed. "You're going to India?"

I wish I didn't have to, Steve, but I do. I've made a commitment, one that I have to follow through on."

Steve glanced at the door, as if recalling his mother's words. He looked back at his father, almost in tears. "The journey sounds dangerous."

Now unable to hold back his insecurity, Steve bolted upright in bed and threw his arms around his father's waist. He hugged him as tightly as he could. "Please don't leave us, Daddy... I don't want you to go," he sobbed. The thought of his father not coming home fuelled his tears.

"Ah, Steve, I'm sorry... did you hear some of what your Mother said?"

"Mom said it could kill you."

A final wave of emotion was released from his troubled mind. Now his father's reassurance would be welcomed in its place.

"Please don't worry, Steve! Nothing will happen to me." Daniel helped Steve to lie back down in his bed. "Now lift your head for a moment." He then fixed Steve's pillow to tilt his head upward.

"Your Mother was a little upset, and well... you know Steve... sometimes people say things they don't mean when they're upset. Do you remember us talking about that before?"

Steve only nodded.

"This time I'll send you and Dave a letter along with your Mother's... how about that?" Daniel hoped that Steve would be distracted from the previous topic.

But, Steve was wise to his father's diversion. "I would like that, Dad... but when do you have to leave?"

"I'm sorry, Steve," his father said, with a chuckle. "You're wiser than I was at your age." He paused, before admitting: "I have to leave in a couple of weeks. But we'll make the best of it, won't we?"

Although Steve's heart remained burdened, he made an effort to be optimistic. "We will, Dad," Steve agreed. He put on his best smile, while wiping away his tears.

Daniel continued his effort to talk about something less troublesome. "Oh! You know what?... I've written another poem."

"Another one for Mom?"

"No, this one is about a father and a son... sort of like us. It's short, so I was able to memorize it."

"Can I hear it now?"

"Of course, Steve, it's called 'The Racers', and it goes something like this:

~

I'll have you a race son, to the tree

You start first and I'll follow at three

What kept you boy, I've been here a while

No matter really, you have good style

~

I'll try you a race son, to the fence

At the count of three, we'll both commence

My, you can fly, though I'm not fair competition

Still I could beat you, if I kept in condition

~

I'll give you a race grandson, to the tree

Let's both start, when your father counts three

That was a close one, you really flew

Say son, thinking back, he's a lot faster than you.

~

"That's a fun poem, Dad... is it you and I doing the racing?"

"That's right Steve, you, and Dave as well."

"And who's the grandson?"

"That would be my grandson, Steve." Daniel's suggestion caused him to smile.

"Then... would he be my son... racing you?"

"That's right, Steve... he would be your son."

"Do you think someday I'll have a son?"

"Yes, Steve, and I think you would make a wonderful father." Daniel reflected for a moment, hoping his son's young life would be better than his own.

"You've been a great father to us, Dad." Steve's praise was both genuine and heartfelt.

"Ah, that's nice of you to say that, Steve."

Steve reflected, innocently. "How come I never got to meet grandad Donoghue?"

"'Well, Steve, your grandad died quite a while ago."

"I would have liked to meet him. I bet he was a good father too."

Daniel paused again for a moment, thinking about his boyhood life. He wondered from which version Steve would benefit most. He knew the truth was always the best course chartered, but was Steve old enough to understand? And what would it take to convince him the hardship his father faced as a boy was not the life for which he was destined?

"I do remember some good times Steve, but my father was away a lot."

"Was he a soldier like you?"

"No Steve, he was mostly a labourer by profession, sometimes a ship's fireman. As a boy, I remember him saying he built things."

"Did he send letters while he was away, like you send to mom?"

"No Steve. He didn't send any letters."

What Daniel was trying to avoid saying was that his father didn't come home often. And when he did, he brought little if any money to support his family. Eventually, he stopped coming home entirely.

Daniel's brother David and two sisters Mary Anne and Kathleen lived most of their early lives with only their mother. Having little or no income to live on eventually led to the breakup of the family. With no place to live and little to eat, the local Poor Law Board of Guardians deemed Daniel's mother unfit to raise her family. That meant two things... the orphanage for the children and the workhouse for their mother. Daniel was separated from his siblings. Having entered St. Mary's Orphanage at the age of six, he didn't leave until he was fourteen.

"Steve, things were a lot tougher for us as a family back then."

"At least you had each other didn't you... like we have?"

"Well Steve, by the time I was your age, I hadn't heard from my father for more than a year. And since he never sent any money for us to live on, some people came and took us kids to live at an orphanage. Do you know what an orphanage is?"

"Isn't it where kids go to live when their parents have died?"

"Yes that's correct, but other kids, whose parents can't take care of them, are sent there as well. That's what happened to me. I was sent to St. Mary's Orphanage."

"That must have been pretty scary... and lonely!" Steve empathized greatly with his father's childhood, bravely holding back his true emotions.

"Yes, it was Steve... I found it very scary at first. Life was pretty tough at St. Mary's, but that's something you'll never experience, Steve. I can promise you that. As long as I'm a soldier, your mother will always have money from the army, and maybe in a couple of years I can change careers and have a job where I'm home all the time."

Steve lay in bed trying to digest some of what he had just heard.

"Now, maybe that's enough talking for one night. It's time you got to sleep."

Daniel got up from the side of the bed before adding, "I'll just blow out this candle. Now promise me you'll go right to sleep."

After making his way to the doorway, Daniel turned at the threshold for a final goodnight.

"I'll keep my promise, if you'll keep yours," Steve said, cleverly.

"What promise is that, Steve?"

"Promise me, will you... that I'll never have to go to an orphanage?"

Steve pushed for the answer that would settle his mind for sleep.

Daniel thought for a moment about the significance of his son's request. At that moment, he couldn't imagine the circumstances that would lead to him having to keep his promise.

"Of course, Steve, your mother and I will always be here for you, I promise!"

Daniel closed the door, almost fully, and retraced his steps down the short hallway. Thinking Mary would be asleep, he was surprised to notice her light still emanating from their room.

"I thought you would be asleep by now," he stated, sitting down on the side of the bed. "What's that you're reading?"

"Oh, it's called 'The Four Feathers', by A.E. Mason. I borrowed it from Father." Mary looked briefly at the front cover. "I've only finished the first chapter. I think you'd like it."

Mary glanced over at her husband, as he settled back into bed.

"Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine," Daniel said, still looking as though he had something on his mind. "It's just... the clever lad had me make him a promise."

"A promise... of what?"

"It all started when you said the bloomin' voyage would kill me. Next thing you know we're talking about my father and then the orphanage."

"Oh Danny, you didn't tell him about St. Mary's, did you?"

"I did, to some extent."

"And you told him he wouldn't end up in an orphanage, is that what you promised?"

"Well I had to get him off to sleep... you really scared him you know."

"Blast! Now we've both said something we wish we hadn't." Mary smiled and put her hand on Daniel as she caressed his shoulder.

"It'll never come to that," Daniel said.

"I hope you didn't tell him about the parts you'd rather forget?"

"No we didn't go into that. But you know when I think about it, all that difficulty aside, the worst part of it was... I always thought my father would someday come and get me. Then it seemed... I can't say when exactly, but eventually I realized I was never going home. I suppose I just grew to accept it."

Mary had an expression of sorrow in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Love. It wasn't a mistake to make that promise."

Daniel looked over at Mary. "I would do anything to keep our family together."

"As would I," Mary agreed.

~ ~ ~

Sully stared at Daniel, wondering what to say.

A droplet of rain splashed on Daniel's face. With fatigue now setting in, their conversation was unfolding more slowly. Daniel wiped away the moisture with his hand and glanced upward.

Sully spoke softly. "I understand now."

From the perspective of the treetops, Daniel and Sully lay flat on their backs on the forest floor. A light shower of rain descended onto them, forcing sleep to lurk just beyond their grasp.

"Honestly, I don't feel as though I had any choice." Daniel turned over on his side. "This war is never going to end."

Sully paused before responding. For a moment, Daniel's pessimism caught him off guard.

"It won't go on forever, Danny. One day this war will be over and you'll be home with your boys." After rolling his head to the side mid-sentence, Sully found his friend fast asleep.

In his own articulate way, Daniel could have easily argued the point with Sully. After all, it had crossed his mind more than once that waiting to be liberated from Limburg resembled his boyhood expectation of leaving St. Mary's, hand-in-hand with his father.

But if Daniel only knew what was occurring on the Western Front, this would surely give him pause to be more optimistic. In fact, as Daniel and Sully slept, the war's momentum was indeed shifting in favour of the Allies. So much so that the advance on the Hindenburg Line, an assault which would not have been considered only months ago, was not only underway, it was achieving great success.

Was the Allied breakthrough actually at hand? If it was, would Daniel or anyone else dare to believe it? To this end, one significant fact remained. At this point in the war, Allied Command was still planning future offensives, offensives intended to be launched during the spring of 1919.

CHAPTER THIRTY

### The difficult journey

There is nothing on this earth more

to be prized than true friendship.

St. Thomas Aquinas

The following evening, Daniel and Sully waited for darkness to descend before traversing the hillside to the Rhine River. Knowing the fall equinox would be upon them in only several days, they confirmed each other's estimation that equal amounts of daylight and darkness could be expected at the approximate junctures of 7:00 a.m. and 7:00 p.m. As Daniel continued to note the passage of each day, they each took solace from the fact that this was one of a few variables, which proved their destiny was not entirely beyond their control.

They crouched around a very humble fire, each watching the steam rising out of their one and only mess tin. It was sitting directly in a group of twigs and small branches and only needed a few well-placed breaths to keep it smouldering. An Oxo cube gave off a hint of its beef-like flavour, as it dissolved within the tin's water. Like at Sennelager, and the early days of Limburg, as a result of their meagre food resources, mealtime remained the most coveted juncture of the day.

Supplementing the hot aspect of their meal, biscuits were divided between them. If equal parts of their lives were consumed by walking and resting, mealtime eclipsed not only the mundane aspects of the day, but as Sully would attest, the heart stopping as well.

Holding out his hands close to the fire, Sully looked as though he were trying to warm his biscuits. Daniel turned his head, glancing at the biscuits and then Sully.

"What?" Sully queried. "They're easier on the teeth when they're warm."

Daniel smiled. "How about some corned beef in the morning?"

"Agreed," Sully concurred, "we'll reward ourselves for crossing the Rhine."

Though Daniel and Sully were still tapping into their now diminishing supply of adrenaline, and using it unknowingly to abridge their inadequate food intake, the excitement of their circumstances was helping to mask the pains of hunger. To experienced escapees, it was common knowledge that, to sustain the level of activity required to survive in the wilderness, one needed to consume at least one pound of food per day. Unfortunately for Daniel and Sully, their daily diet was falling very short of that mark.

"We'd better get going if we're to catch that ferry," Sully said, finishing his broth.

Daniel agreed by standing up and tamping the fire's embers until they were completely extinguished. They moved closer to the edge of the bluff and looked out one more time over the Rhine. It was much darker than the previous night, and although the moon was close to its fullest cycle, tonight clouds concealed its brilliance. Their spirits were also buoyed by the sight of a low-lying fog hanging just above the river and its surrounding landscape.

"Did you order that?" Daniel asked, referring to the cloaking vapour.

"As a matter of fact I did," Sully exclaimed. "And for once it's right on time."

"That's rather a stroke of luck, now isn't it?"

"Shall we?" Sully added.

Descending again, this time more slowly and methodically, they both reached the bottom of the hillside with little more than the annoyance of a dog barking off in the distance. They followed their previous night's footsteps, making their way around the edge of a farmer's field. Skirting the pasture at its forested edge, Daniel and Sully exchanged the lead while keeping a close eye on a farmhouse. It was no more than a hundred yards away. With sundown occurring about an hour ago, a faint but perceptible lamplight menaced in the modest dwelling.

Proceeding slowly, the two men were careful to cross the set of railway tracks undetected. By now, their movements were close enough to the river to take full advantage of its enveloping ground fog. Daniel didn't find this troublesome, at least in terms of finding their boat for a second time, but it was about to conceal more than just he and Sully.

"Here it is," Daniel stated.

Both men were relieved to find the small boat the same way they left it in the wee hours of this morning. Here, the shoreline of the Rhine was dominated by treed embankments; it was also abutted by a small amount of pastureland. Daniel and Sully worked quickly to remove the branches. These were obviously meant to prevent all but the keenest eyes from discovering its silhouette. After flipping the craft over and tossing in the oars concealed beneath, each of them took a side and began skidding it toward the riverbank. Pulling from the left, Daniel marched only several paces before slowing slightly. This caused Sully and the boat to annoyingly turn toward their left.

"What's wrong?" Sully asked.

They came to a stop within a dozen or so yards from the bank of the river.

"I hear voices," Daniel whispered.

"That explains a lot," Sully said, before letting go of his side of the boat.

"No, I'm serious. Someone's coming down the river."

Ominously, they both stared up river in the direction of what appeared like idle German chatter. The unmistakable sound of oars dipping into the water was soon accompanied by faint images emerging, then in turn, being consumed by the fog. Daniel's worst fears were confirmed. "Damn these bloody Germans. Don't they have anything better to do?"

He and Sully looked at each other at the same time. It was a river patrol, and they were exposed. With more than several yards between them and the nearby forest, both men strained for a solution. We're going to be caught out in the open, Sully agonized. In the second it took for several resolutions to run through Daniel's mind, Sully hoarsely whispered, "Get under the boat."

"What?" Daniel whispered.

"Get under the boat!"

Flipping it over, they were instantly cloaked. The sound of rowing being interspersed with German voices seemed to get closer and closer until, strangely, they both fell silent. The bump of oars hitting the boat's wooden gunwales gave rise to the thought the boaters were preparing to come ashore.

Had they been spotted? Suddenly, Daniel realized, in their haste, their rucksack was left outside the boat.

Daniel and Sully anguished in absolute darkness while holding their breath. The patrol craft was so close the reverberation of small waves lapping up against its side of it heightened their anxiety. One or two words could be heard, and then silence. Droplets of water falling from the paddles into the water were interspersed with a few more words, and then silence again. Several agonising moments passed as if the two escapees were senseless. In an effort to find an oar, Daniel groped around in the dark. He found both, and quietly passed one to Sully. If their boat turned over they weren't going to be taken without a fight.

The sound of laughter was followed by a cork being pulled from a bottle. Two bottles clinked together. Footsteps shuffled about, before one foot went into the water, and then another. Was someone coming ashore? Would they soon be discovered? Daniel's heart pounded like never before. Then, strangely enough, the familiarity of water pouring into the river meant only one thing. The one who came ashore was urinating.

A German voice said: "Warum brauchen Sie um aus dem Boot?" "Why do you have to get out of the boat for that?"

And the reply: "Sie woollen, dass ich das Boot zum Kentern?" "Do you want me to capsize the boat?"

Sully almost laughed. Fortunately, when it was over, the audible cues reversed themselves, as the man exerted some effort climbing back into the boat.

In only moments, the floating conversation resumed. Although an air of anxiety had become perceptible under the boat, a sense of relief was allowed into the small space. Another dip of an oar was music to Daniel's ears. Their idle chatter continued. It then faded with the river's meandering current... until it could be heard no more.

Sully lifted his side of the boat ever so slightly. An influx of fresh, cool air was welcomed. Their eyes had become so accustomed to the dark, however Sully could almost make out the patrol boat floating in and out of the mist as it proceeded down the river.

"That was close."

"Are they gone?" Daniel asked.

"They are."

After quickly righting the boat, they moved slowly down toward the river's edge. Apprehension undermined their enthusiasm, so much so that, they both looked up and down the river more than once.

Sully felt his throat tighten. "I guess this is it." A wave of panic rushed over him.

Though Daniel's face was expressionless, he continued forcing the boat into the water with determination. In moments they were adrift. Each of them placed an oar in its thole, or pivot point. Daniel sat in the middle and took the first stint at rowing.

"Let me know when you're tired." Sully offered. "Doing nothing makes me nervous."

Daniel was silent as he rowed hard and steady.

"I feel like a moving target sitting here like this."

"Are you afraid a U-boat might get us?"

Sully squirmed. "Are there U-boats in the Rhine? You're joking right... tell me you're joking, Danny."

In spite of Sully's nerves, everything was going as well as could be expected. Daniel fell into a rhythm and watched Sully take a couple of deep breaths to calm his nerves. While Daniel faced the stern, Sully looked beyond his friend in the direction of the bow. The mist was dissipating in patches now, but equal amounts of the river appeared in front and behind. After closing the distance to the Rhine's western shore by half again, Sully felt something bothersome in the bottom of the boat.

"Ah... Danny, are your feet as wet as mine?"

Daniel was so preoccupied with rowing he hadn't noticed anything of concern.

"You didn't happen to notice how old this tub was, did you?"

As Sully strained to look at the bottom of the boat, he became all too aware of the water sloshing up over his ankles.

"I think it's too late to get our money back, mate," Daniel answered. He was breathing heavily. Yet sensing his friend's elevated anxiety, Daniel picked up the pace.

Though it was still significantly overcast, slivers of moonlight began to descend, illuminating the river below. Compounding this, the ground fog, which was concealing much of their activities, began to break up and drift off. Again, Sully looked anxiously toward the hull of their craft.

"Ahh... Danny boy... I think you'd better start putting your back into it!"

Daniel panted hard. "Why, what's wrong?"

With the clouds parting above them, again the water began to reflect the moonlight. This time, though, the Rhine glistened as much inside the boat as it did out.

"What's wrong?" Sully gulped. "I don't know... would this be a bad time to remind you that I can't swim?"

"I know you can't swim," Daniel gasped. He pulled on the oars as hard as he possibly could.

"I thought you should know... seeing as we're sinking."

Letting his frustration get the better of him, Sully assumed command. "Here," he barked, "you move over. I'll take one oar and you take the other."

Sully sat beside Daniel in the middle of the boat and started rowing. The boat now rocked back and forth as well as side to side. At first, Sully's haste caused him to be out of sync with his partner, but within several strokes Daniel was able to match his timing to the more frantic oarsman beside him.

"Row, Danny, row," Sully whispered as loudly as he dared. He was on the boat's port side while Daniel was on its starboard.

"Watch it, or you'll have us going in circles."

By this time in the crossing they were drifting as much downstream, in a northerly direction, as they were paddling on a westerly tack.

"That's it," Daniel suggested. As they each rowed hard in unison, Sully agreed, "I think we've got it now."

The words had no sooner come out of Sully's mouth when they heard a loud snap. Sully's oar broke clean in half right at the pivot point on the gunwale.

"Christ," was the only word out of his mouth, as he flew backwards right into the front end of the boat. Initially Daniel was so taken aback by the unexpected event that he stopped rowing. Instantly, he began to laugh quietly.

Sully was dumbfounded. "Mary, Mother of Jesus... what are we going to do now?" After he climbed onto the small seat in the bow of the craft, Daniel turned around and noticed the priceless expression of Sully's face.

With barely a thought of what to do next, they both lurched to starboard side of the boat.

"There," Daniel said, still laughing, "your prayers have been answered."

"What's happened?" Sully asked. He seemed as if he were still in a bit of a daze.

"We've hit an outcropping of some sort."

Daniel's estimation of the situation was correct. What they had run into was a small man-made jetty just upstream from an old boat launch.

Daniel and Sully quickly came to their senses and jumped out of the boat. By now the bottom third was full of water.

"That went well," Sully stated.

Daniel felt bad for laughing at his friend's misfortune. "Sorry, mate, it's just I've never seen anything...."

Sully interjected. "I'm on dry land. That's all that matters."

"Right, then, we can't leave this here," Daniel suggested. "We're going to have to sink it."

Pushing it off the small jetty, they both retreated to the relative safety of the treed shoreline. As Daniel looked above the embankment, Sully watched the vessel sink. In moments it was out of sight. They quickly ran up and over another road. Continuing west, they set out to extend their pattern of putting obstacles behind them.

Now, with the formidable Rhine reduced to its most memorable components, the mountainous geography was, at the same time, both physically challenging and visually rewarding. Daniel and Sully paused periodically to rest on hilltop vistas, while valleys below compensated their efforts not only emotionally, but spiritually as well. Though Daniel recorded these days as being framed by nature's spectacle, his and Sully's state of mind would be defined, for days to come, by something different.

During one evening, while traversing the wooded hills, Daniel and Sully's attention was drawn to a roadway below. It was a small escort of German soldiers marching toward a nearby village. While this was, in itself, some cause for concern, closer observation yielded something more troubling, much more disheartening.

"That isn't Frank, is it?" Sully asked.

Amongst the escort, three men walked with their hands behind their backs.

"I think it is."

Daniel and Sully looked at each other with sinking hearts.

Frank Armstrong and his two mates... had been recaptured.

~ ~ ~

With Daniel's progress through the German countryside representing the sum of days, quite possibly weeks, his sons' journey across the English landscape would be measured in mere hours. After boarding the train in London several weeks ago, Steven and David left the familiarity of home and reluctantly travelled west to begin a new life.

As their railcar jostled and squealed, Steve looked out the large cabin window and saw only visions of the life he left behind. Then refocusing on his reflection in the glass, he caught a glimpse of something with which he had recently become all too familiar. It was the face of sorrow. It then faded into another image. Revealing itself next was a compelling portrait of despondency. With Steve at his lowest ebb ever, both visions were all too willing to pour themselves into the expanding emptiness he felt in his soul. Like his father, nothing could temper his solemn perspective, not even nature's elegance.

"Anything from the trolley?" a lady asked, after stopping her refreshment cart in the aisle next to the boys' bench. The lady looked first at Steven and David, and then glanced at the nun sitting across from them.

"Sorry," Dave quietly replied, "we've no money."

Steve quickly piped up, "A simple no thank you will do next time." Being disappointed by his brother's candour, Steve looked back out the window.

While smiling, the habit-cloaked escort across from Steve suggested, "We're fine thank you."

Dave was disappointed to see the trolley move on.

"It won't be much longer to Dursley, boys," their spectacled chaperon suggested. Sister Claudia was from the Sisters of Mary Order in London.

"I thought you said we were going to Nympsfield?" Dave asked.

"That's right, by way of Dursley," Sister politely answered.

Marist House, in Nympsfield, was an orphanage founded by the Marist Sisters in London. Of those answering His calling, Sister Claudia was their youngest nun. A very youthful face was framed by her wimple, or headdress, as the boys would later learn. With Steve's maturity being the reference point for hers, he was certain she couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen years of age.

It was late in the evening when the boys finally arrived at their new home. Though sadness still defined their demeanour, they were happy to find their journey over and, with their late arrival, themselves in their own beds. Upstairs in the boys' communal sleeping area, the remnants of the first day passed slowly. Only reminiscent chatter separated them from sleep and the hope of pleasant dreams of the past.

"I wonder if Dad knows," Dave quietly asked.

"Knows what?" Steve answered.

"Sshh... we're trying to sleep," one of the other boys whispered.

Dave paused, before continuing in a quiet whisper, "about... Mom."

"If he does... I suppose he'll be as sad as us."

Lying in their own beds, Steve's and Dave's were only two of an even dozen on the upper floor. A small shelf between their beds held an unlit candle, while a window above allowed the moonlight to venture into the unlit room.

"I wonder if he's still us writing letters." Dave reflected. He could almost imagine his father composing one right now, as they lay there in bed.

Steve looked over at Dave and felt the big brother in him take over. "Would it help you sleep if I quietly read you one... of his letters, I mean?" He could see his brother's eyes light up, even in the sparsely lit room.

As Steve fumbled through a small suitcase, he could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. A flickering lamplight accompanied a familiar voice.

"That's enough talking for now, boys," Sister Claudia whispered. The boys' dormitory was quiet, save for Steve and Dave's banter. Her lamplight's glow veiled only her, leaving the rest of the room undisturbed.

"Sorry, Sister," Steve spoke up, "we'll be straight off to sleep." Steve quickly placed the letter in his hand on the shelf beside his bed.

As Sister Claudia made her way over, her lamp light lit up both the boys and the envelope now sitting on the shelf.

"Is that a letter from one of your parents?"

"It's one our father wrote to us from India," Dave replied. His enthusiastic tone was not lost on the caring nun.

"India! Why, that sounds intriguing."

"Our father was a soldier. He was posted there for two years," Steve added. "I was going to read the letter to Dave."

"I thought lights out meant no talking?" another boy spoke up from the dark.

Turning the lamp toward him, Sister Claudia was quick to respond. "Mr. Moran," she stated in a low voice. "I seem to remember spending some time at your bedside on your first night here."

Turning back to Steve and Dave, she added, "I think under the circumstances it wouldn't hurt. Would it be alright if I listened as well?"

"I don't mind," Steve answered. He lifted himself upward in bed and slipped the letter from the shelf.

"Would you like to see a picture of our father?" Dave piped up.

On his brother's cue, Steve reached again into his handful of keepsakes and then presented the photo to Sister. Placing her lamp on the shelf, she leaned forward to get a better look.

"That's a nice one of the three of you?"

"It's the only one we have," Dave confided.

Steve glanced from his letter, then up to Sister Claudia.

"Are you ready for the letter, then?" he asked.

"Just let me pull up this chair." Sister Claudia took a small chair from the corner of the room and placed it between the two beds.

"That's better," she said after sitting down. Then looking over at Steve and then Dave, she noticed both of them staring at her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Steve paused, while Dave's eyes spoke for them both. "Our mother used to sit by us in the same way," Steve lamented.

"And read our father's letters," Dave added.

"Would it make you feel more at home if I read the letter to you?"

Though they were initially at a loss for words, Dave began to nod his head. Seeing this, Steve slowly stretched out his arm and let Sister Claudia take the letter from his hand. Unfolding it, she began to softly read,

~

"Dear Steven and David:"

~

"I hope my letter finds you well and in good health. I am writing you from the Munster's Nowshera Camp in India's North West Frontier. Our camp is on the Kabul River and is amid the breathtaking scenes of both the Khyber Pass and the snow-capped Himalayan Mountains. Although it is taking some time to adapt to our new conditions, I am trying to make the best of it. Rainfall is heaviest in summer, during which temperatures are very hot, often exceeding 100 degrees. My new uniform is light brown in colour and my helmet is wide brimmed. Our 'Khakis,' as they are called, are well suited for the hot climate.

It is worth mentioning that our journey here was as long as it was interesting. With a voyage lasting nearly three weeks, one cannot help but reflect on the size of the Empire. I have discovered the world is full of different people, languages and religions. A lesson you may understand when you are older is one I shall try to head myself: If you focus on what makes us the same and not on what makes us different, you will always find your Kingdom in good stead.

Boys, though your mother is very able and determined, she will need your help while I am gone. Please assis her with her chores, work hard on your studies, but most importantly always remain faithful that we will be reunited.

Please write as often as you can and I will, in turn, keep you posted on the Battalion's exciting exploits. With this letter I send you my love. God Bless you my brave young soldiers."

~

"Your loving father."

~

Sister Claudia sighed. "Well, that was very nice." She looked up from the letter and found four emotional eyes staring at her. It was all too clear how much the boys missed their mother and father.

"Ah, I'm sorry, boys," she said. "Maybe that's enough for one night. I should leave you two alone to get some sleep?"

Dave said nothing, only nodded his head. Steve, on the other hand, was more stoic at concealing his emotions. Sister Claudia quietly got up, placed the letter on the shelf and picked up her lamp. After returning the chair to its original place, a thought came to her. She couldn't help but ask, "What did your father mean by 'your Kingdom'?"

"The Kingdom inside of you," Dave answered.

"Inside of you?" she repeated. Knowing where this was leading, the lamplight flickered across her modest smile.

"The Kingdom of God," Steve answered. "Our father taught us to always remember..."

"The Kingdom of God in within you," Sister Claudia interjected. Her smile broadened. "Truer words were never spoken," she added. "Well, on that note, I'll bid you goodnight." The boys' eyes then followed Sister's light the short distance to her sleeping quarters.

Her bed was in one corner of the room and was only modestly concealed behind a curtain. Drawing it behind her, the lamplight then silhouetted a nun descending to her knees, and dutifully saying her bedtime prayers.

The next morning, the sound of footsteps again broke the silence of their room. This time, though, they were more determined, and announced the arrival of a disposition more disciplined.

"Alright, boys, it is time to wake up," Sister Augusta bellowed. While walking between the rows of beds, every boy felt their leg rattled by the unsympathetic Sister. Amid the groans of all present, Dave looked over to one vacated bed and asked, "Where is Sister Claudia?"

A stern face looked back. "Sister Claudia is downstairs." Sister Augusta's severe expression seemed in stark contrast to the gentleness of Sister Claudia's, her habit inconsistent with the uniform Dave thought she should be wearing... that of a Sergeant's.

"Come on," she hollered again. "Everyone line up, you know what to do."

Sister Augusta was referring to the morning's pre-breakfast wash-up routine.

"You must be the new boys?" she stated, looking at Steven and David.

"Ah... we are Mum," Steve stammered.

"It seems the task of introducing you to our Mother Superior has fallen to me."

Steve and Dave offered only stares of silence.

"If you don't mind making yourselves presentable, I'll wait for you at the foot of the stairs."

"Mother Superior?" Dave said after she left. "I don't like the sound of that."

Steve seemed less intimidated. "It's just an introduction, Dave. We shouldn't worry."

Within moments, Steve and Dave joined Sister Augusta downstairs and from there, they followed her toward the infamous Sister Benedict, the convent's Mother Superior.

On seeing the open door to her office, Dave quickly empathized with any whom had made the long gallows-like walk before him.

"Good morning, Mother Superior. Good morning, Sister Claudia." Though Sister Augusta's demeanour was confident, even she walked pensively through the open door. Taking her place beside Sister Claudia, she then turned and saw the boys standing apprehensively at the threshold.

"Come in, boys," Mother Superior calmly said. Her voice instantly imprinted on the boys as one of no higher authority. After giving his older brother a shove forward, Dave followed.

"Please be seated," she added.

Steve and Dave could feel her eyes beam at one and then the other. She then followed Dave's eyes as they glanced from her to a firm wooden pointer located within reach of her left hand. Dave quickly became discomforted by the realization he was sitting at a distance closer than the sum of her outstretched arm and the extension of the menacing pointer. The boys descended uncomfortably into a seated position and affixed their gaze no higher than their knees.

"This is Steven and this is David," Sister Augusta indicated. She put a hand on each of their heads respectively.

Silence engulfed the room for a moment, as Mother Superior crossed her hands in front of her. Time itself seemed her ally while waiting patiently for their eyes to be drawn upward. As their heads slowly rose, the boys could see Mother Superior's hands crossed, right over left, with the end of her right middle finger armoured by a metal thimble. It was tapping methodically on the desk. The boys were struck by its reverberation. Unnervingly, it seemed to be probing the deepest crevasses of their minds.

Their eyes rose further to a contrite, but broad, smile; rectangular spectacles were perched half way down her sharp nose. An unflinching stare emanated from her dark eyes, a glare from which, Steve imagined, no secret could be withheld. Concealed entirely by her headdress, David was sure her hair must be the same colour to which his own was turning... white.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance," said Mother Superior. Though, at first, her mouth seemed to expel the words in slow motion, Steve came to his senses just in time to understand the gist of what she was saying.

"Likewise, Mum, uh Sister, I mean." Steve became embarrassed as he fumbled for the appropriate words.

"You may address me as Mother Superior," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, of course, Mother Superior, we are happy to meet you as well, aren't we Dave?" Steve gave his brother a quick elbow, releasing him from a trance-like expression.

"'Of course, yes Mother Superior, pleased to meet you," Dave responded. He seemed barely coherent.

Mother Superior looked at Dave and then Steve one more time. She unfolded her hands and picked up the papers that lay on her desk in front of her. Reading silently, for a moment, she allowed the boys anticipation to build.

Her primary purpose, during this first encounter, was to forever engrave in their young minds the unmistakeable impression of the influence that was held within her office, that she was the mythical figure from which all authority emanated. Her performance, having been perfected by now, was as successful with Steve and Dave as it had been with previous new arrivals.

"I see you have received the appropriate sacraments," said Sister Benedict.

"Yes, Mother Superior," replied Steve.

Dave was more than happy to allow his older brother to do the talking, unless, of course, Mother Superior preferred to extract a reply directly from him.

"Confession, First Communion?" she questioned.

Seeing Sister Claudia nodding her head in unison with the boys, Mother Superior looked up inquisitively at the young nun, now standing now sheepishly at the side of her desk.

"We talked all the way back from the train yesterday," Sister Claudia quickly offered. She knew instinctively Mother Superior's expression beckoned an explanation.

Steve and Dave looked at each other momentarily and agreed. The sacrament bestowed next would undoubtedly be... 'Last Rights!'

"Yes well," Mother Superior said, before pausing. Her attention was drawn to the doorway. "Good morning Father Murtaugh, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" Mother Superior's demeanour became somewhat buoyed by the priest's arrival.

"Good morning Mother Superior, and Sisters," Father Murtaugh said from the door's threshold.

"Steven and David Donoghue, this is Father Murtaugh," said Mother Superior.

Steve and Dave were very relieved by the fact that someone else had become the focus of Mother Superior's attention. Father Murtaugh was the parish priest for the small village of Nympsfield, while St. Joseph's was the Catholic Church to which the boys would soon become familiar.

"Have we got a couple of new arrivals?" he asked, glancing at the boys then looking back to Mother Superior.

"Yes, Father, this is Steven, aged twelve and David, aged ten. They will be staying with us from now on."

Steve heard the words 'now on,' and found them reckless, even hurtful.

"Donoghue," he said, "that's a good Irish name isn't it?" The boys nodded in shy agreement.

"Well, I know you have business to take care of so I won't keep you. I just wanted to ask Sister Claudia if she managed to type up this Sunday's Sermon."

"Yes, Father, I have, I will drop it off to you this morning... if that's alright with you?"

"That's just fine," he replied with a smile. "And thank you again for your suggestions. I do very much appreciate them."

"Well as a matter of fact, sorry, Mother Superior, if I may," she glanced over and received Mother Superior's nod of approval. "I have been thinking about Luke, chapter 17, verse 21."

"The Gospel according to Luke," Father said slowly "17, 21, Oh yes, if I remember correctly Sister," his eyes looked upward, as if for help from above. "Behold, the kingdom of God is within you, is that the passage to which you are referring?"

"It is, Father."

"Another divine intervention, Sister," he asked with a smile.

"I suppose so, Father," she said, "it came to me last evening, in a special sort of way." The young Sister smiled and winked at the boys in a gesture of acknowledgement. Steve and Dave grinned, understanding the source of her inspiration.

"Sounds intriguing, we could discuss it further after this morning's Mass, if you'd like."

"Sounds fine, Father," replied Sister Claudia.

"Well then, if that is all, Father?" Mother Superior asked impatiently. While glancing at Sister Claudia, the accusation of overtaking the meeting was evident in her glare.

"Sister Augusta, will you make sure the boys get some breakfast before this morning's service? Sister Claudia, will you remain behind for a moment?"

Being all too happy to leave Mother Superior's office, both Steve and Dave looked back at Sister Claudia with concern. As the door slowly closed, they were happy to see her smile firmly braced with courage.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

### The depth of true friendship

If you have one true friend

you have more than your share.

Thomas Fuller

"Don't... you'll waste the matches!" Sully said, almost coughing out the words. Though both men were exhausted, Sully was in worse shape than Daniel.

"You're soaked to the skin, mate."

Daniel frustrated himself trying unsuccessfully to lite several matches. "I've got to get this blasted fire started."

He looked over at Sully and found him slipping in and out of sleep, curled up beside what would have made for a good fire. Their only problem, everything was soaking wet.

It was sometime after midnight during the 11th night of their escape when Daniel realized they couldn't go any further. At least not today, he thought. With many days of the trying ordeal behind them, Daniel was now lamenting the past thirty-six hours as the most challenging. It had rained the entire time. Compounding this, tonight the temperature was hovering below normal. It had dipped to only a handful of degrees above freezing.

Though Daniel's will to continue remained strong, Sully's endurance was being undermined by a simmering illness. Was fate lurking just beyond Daniel's willingness to acknowledge it, or was it in the hands of an unpredictable ally, Mother Nature? Either way, Daniel and Sully knew they were both in dire need of a good night's sleep. To this end, Daniel insisted on establishing an early camp deep within the forest. With one arm over his shoulder, he braced his friend's progress until the right spot presented itself. Finally, a deep shallow in the ground seemed the perfect spot for what they needed most... a roaring fire.

Daniel exhaled and focused on his visible breath. It was a sign of impending trouble. With few options coming to mind, he pulled the pocketknife from his haversack and began shedding the damp bark off the piled braches. One at a time he reset the fire's structure, as Sully was denied a peaceful sleep. Despite his best efforts going unrewarded, somewhat surprisingly, Daniel shook his head and smiled. Again, he realized, the answer to his prayers would be found in Mary's words.

Sometime later, Sully groaned and then rolled over to face a cluster of struggling embers.

"You finally got it going," he quietly said. Raising his tired eyes from the fire, he saw Daniel using the pocket torch to re-read one of his letters from home. Daniel said nothing, only turned out the torch and smiled at his friend. Sully returned the gesture, until his eyes went wide with surprise.

"No, Danny," he shouted in a hoarse voice.

"It's alright, mate." Daniel said, while putting the letter into the base of the fledgling fire.

"But they're all you have left."

"No, my friend," he said, pausing "She's in here." He pointed to the side of his head, "and in here," after gesturing toward his heart.

Daniel then continued using his knife to expose the branch's dry wood. He alternated between this and reading his letters before adding them to the still struggling fire. Though he eventually ran out of letters, a short while later he was placing larger logs on the growing fire.

"Do you mind if I take the second watch?" Sully inquired. He looked as though his bones would, themselves, refuse the order to move.

"Yes, my friend," Daniel smiled, sympathetically. "The second watch is fine."

Feeling neither the first nor second watch was required, Daniel tended to a few more duties before lying down on the other side of the fire. As the heat buoyed their spirits, they both drifted off unaware of the momentous occasion today marked.

The next morning Daniel awoke in a panic. Struggling to breathe, his dream world still intersected with reality. While both belonged to the realm of hellish experiences, Daniel tried to pry his consciousness from a recurring nightmare. In it were a cast of dispiriting and haunting apparitions. He focused, for a moment, on the pit of smouldering logs.

The smoke? he anguished. Looking upward, he was quickly relieved by the lack of any plume. More importantly, though, he noticed something more reassuring, more invigorating. Beyond the treetops the sun was shining.

Daniel grabbed his boots by the fire and was pleasantly surprised by their dryness. As Sully lay motionless, Daniel regrouped the fire's dying embers and used them to nurture a warm drink of bouillon. Soon thereafter, Sully awoke and found himself under their only blanket, the one that Daniel had dried over the fire.

Before moving on, Daniel continued his regiment of marking each new day in his small notebook. It was Friday, the 27th of September. Though he and Sully had agreed to spend most of the day drying their clothes in the warm sun, for the Allies, there would be no rest for the weary. Today would mark the second full day of their assault on the German defence system, the Hindenburg Line.

As if achieving a breakthrough wasn't enough, the Second Battle of the Somme, as it was called, was designed to push the Germans back beyond their main supply routes, which ran parallel to their frontline. If successful, this would make it all but impossible for the Germans to effectively maintain their forces at the front. For the Allies, the days ahead would prove to be critical. For Daniel and Sully, they remained as decisive.

Later that evening, dusk prompted Daniel and Sully to prepare for another night's march. Venturing out beyond the forest's edge, Sully looked up and down a road they had just come upon.

"It's clear," Sully suggested. He took a few more steps out onto the road itself and repeated the instinct to be cautious. Daniel remained close to the cover of the wood while trying to get his bearings with his compass.

"I don't think this thing is reliable anymore." He gently shook the camp-made device then looked at it once more. Tapping it again only resulted in further frustration.

Their compass was crude and only somewhat effective. It had a base of wood, and a cardboard pointer sat on a piece of ordinary needle. A small fragment of magnetized iron was attached to the end of the pointer; a shard of window glass sufficed as its covering.

"I think I see a sign," said Sully. He jogged a dozen paces toward it, but stopped just short of a four-way intersection.

Daniel was still preoccupied with the compass. "The wooden base must have swollen with all this rain."

"It says, 'Verviers' is in that direction."

Daniel looked up at Sully. "Did you say, Verviers?"

"That doesn't sound German!" Sully suggested, before he and Daniel met at the edge of the road.

"It's not... it's French!"

Sully seemed perplexed. "How can that be?"

Daniel smiled. "Because we're in Belgium, my friend."

"Belgium, but don't they speak Flemish?"

"They do... in the north. In the south they speak French."

Daniel could see that Sully seemed surprised by his apparent knowledge of the country.

"Did I ever tell you that the St. Mary's Orphanage was run by The Brothers of Mercy... from Malines, Belgium?"

"You don't say," Sully said laughingly. "Then we are out of Germany?"

"We are," Daniel agreed. "You can shake the Hun soil from your boots for good."

Looking at each other, they instantly understood the significance of the milestone. Was the hardship of the last four years actually over? The realization underwrote an emotional moment. More, though, for Sully than Daniel, it seemed.

"Look at you," Sully suggested. "You're in no condition..." he began to say, before his voice cracked. Appearing as though he could feel the burden of their ordeal being lifted from his shoulders, Sully covered his mouth with his left hand and looked away. Though he had seen the depth of his mate's emotions before, Daniel's face was full of nothing but empathy and admiration for his devoted friend.

"I'm in no condition for what?" Daniel asked with a smile.

Sully looked back at Daniel with tears in his eyes. "To be received by a neutral delegation."

Daniel couldn't help but agree. "We are in a sorry state, aren't we?" He rubbed his hand over the stubble of his beard and looked at his mate's tattered clothes. They were both filthy and mud caked.

Sully laughed in an attempt to regain his composure.

"Come on, I think it's time we head north," Daniel said, confidently.

"Shall we have a look at that compass?" Sully asked before walking over toward Daniel. Prodding the compass again for an accurate reading, they walked slowly in the direction of Verviers. The cover of darkness was upon them again.

"I don't think it's working properly," Daniel gave up trying, and handed the compass to Sully.

As he fidgeted with it while they walked, Sully stated softly, "I'm not going back, Danny."

"Back?" Daniel asked.

"To Limburg."

Daniel extended his arm and patted his friend on the shoulder. "We're not going back, mate, to Limburg or Germany."

Sully smiled and handed the compass back to Daniel.

Though they stayed clear of the village of Verviers, and headed in a direction they thought was north, they soon came to another small hamlet. One dim light lit up the town's only crossroads. Their spirits were uplifted and their confidence further bolstered by a warm autumn breeze.

Sully was the first to suggest it, as if tempting Providence. Of the two, he was more eager to leave the bumpy fields behind. After all, he suggested, they could make much better time by using the road. Testing Daniel's better judgement, they both began to walk at a leisurely pace. Their intention was to proceed right through the small cluster of houses. At first, the night seemed peaceful. It was disturbed only by a distant barking dog. All too familiar, this annoyance was quickly dismissed for something more rhythmic, something more alarming. It was the sound of footsteps, and they were coming toward them.

"There's someone ahead," Sully whispered.

It was too late to make a run for the woods. They both kept walking steadily and waited for the person to emerge from the darkness.

"What should we do?" Sully asked.

"You tell me, this was your bleedin' idea."

Anxious seconds past like minutes before a figure began to appear. It was a woman, and she was walking into the light.

Sully smiled, as she walked closer. He instantly became more confident. "I'll take care of this," he said, quietly.

A greeting seemed appropriate, as they passed each other directly under the village's only streetlight. Daniel feared their dirty clothes would give them away.

A broad smile accompanied Sully's friendly remark. "Bonjour!" he nodded his head.

"Bonsoir!" the pleasant lady responded, smiling in turn.

Though Daniel wondered whether she found their appearance humorous, Sully was not as discerning. He could not take his eyes off her, as they passed each other on opposite sides of the road. To his great satisfaction she gave him one more reason to feel optimistic. Before she vanished into the night, she turned and gave Sully one more smile.

"Did you see that?" Sully gate was slowed somewhat by the woman's smile, but he quickly turned and resumed walking beside Daniel.

"See what?"

"She smiled at me."

Daniel only shook his head with amusement.

Sully turned around and kept pace with his friend. "Four years in a prison camp and I haven't lost me touch."

They were now walking briskly out of the lighted area.

"How was my accent?"

"Bloody Parisian," Daniel stated, as they too walked into the darkness.

From the pitch of the night, a familiar melody broke the silence. With his spirits buoyed, Sully began whistling 'It's a long long way to Tipperary.'

Daniel suddenly cleared his throat. His hint was somewhat lost when Sully responded: "What?"

The rest of the night's march passed uneventfully, save for the unexpected bump in Sully's enthusiasm. It was contagious, though, and soon the period of their confinement was the furthest thing from Daniel's and Sully's thoughts. Their conversation jumped from the past to the future, leaping over the last four years as if the war never took place. They walked and talked for hours, while the word Limburg remained unspoken. Only the opportunities bestowed to the optimist now captivated their attention. The promise of the future consumed them.

Almost oblivious to the onset of dawn, they again sought out a place to spend the day in hiding. To this end, their efforts were soon rewarded when they found what looked like a seldom-used barn. It was set back about seventy-five yards from a road, which had the appearance of leading to nowhere. With the last village now several miles behind them, they settled in and had what Sully liked to refer as, 'a bird's breakfast.' This time they were only faintly dispirited by their diminished food supply, and both men laid their hopes on the fact that the day's rest would pass uneventfully, at least without being woken by their growling bellies.

But only several hours had passed before Daniel was jolted from his sleep. There were voices outside the barn, and they were getting closer.

Daniel heard a woman's voice first."S'il vous plait, ne pas me blesser!" "Please don't hurt me!" she pleaded.

Daniel quickly stood up. He tried to get a look through a crack in the wall.

"Shut up! Du wirst tun, was ich sage!" "Shut up! You'll do as I say!"

Frantic to see what was happening, Daniel finally found a thin slit between two of the wall's logs. It was a German soldier holding a young woman, and they were heading right for the barn.

"Nein, nein, ich habe Geld!" "No, no, I have money!" the young lady said in perfect German.

"Stille, stille!" the soldier responded. He threw her bicycle to the ground and continued forcing her at the point of his bayonet until they reach the door to the barn. On seeing the soldier's dishevelled appearance, Daniel instantly recognized him for what he was... a deserter.

Daniel stood back from the door, as it shook once, and then a second time. He quickly glanced at Sully. But before he could kick Sully awake, the door burst open; the young woman was thrown to the floor between them. Daniel stared for a moment at the German soldier, brandishing the bayonet in his right hand. In the time it took for the woman to scurry out of the way, the deserter sprang through the threshold. Lunging toward him, Daniel instinctively lurched to the side, only narrowly missing being gored.

With the confidence only the trench can instill, the German unleashed a powerful kick, sending Daniel backward into one of the barns stall partitions. In the next fluid motion, the attacker spun around and grabbed the rifle, which was still strapped onto his back. Sully had awoken by this time, but he was outdone when he felt the rifle's butt end on the side of his head. The bayonet dropped to the floor the instant Sully fell unconscious.

Turning the gun back toward his adversary, the soldier saw Daniel's eyes glance between the rifle and the bayonet on the ground. The German looked over at the young woman still crouched in the corner. Only one opponent stood in the way of getting what he wanted.

Being a deserter, he knew he had nothing to lose, the firing squad being his likely end. He looked at Daniel and then... he pulled the trigger. 'Click!' Nothing happened. In the time it took to look down and unbolt his empty breech, Daniel lunged forward. Grasping the gun, they wrestled back and forth. The upper hand passed to and from each of them until suddenly Daniel fell to the ground under a stronger, fiercer opponent. With each holding the gun tightly, the soldier pushed his rifle downward onto Daniel's throat. Death seemed only moments away as Daniel struggled in vain. Just then, he looked to his side and saw Sully regaining consciousness. He managed to get up, but stumbled groggily. Feeling as though he had little left to offer, Sully threw himself at the Hun. The pair rolled over. Still holding the rifle, Daniel found himself on top.

With the tide turning in his favour, Daniel struggled to hold onto the upper hand.

"Help me," Daniel pleaded, looking over to the petrified young woman. "Please!" he repeated.

The gun was forced downward by Daniel and then pushed upward by the deserter.

Realizing this moment of life and death would undoubtedly precede her own, she quickly did what she could. She began to help Daniel force the rifle onto the German's throat. To no avail, her efforts were quickly thwarted when the soldier kicked her to the side. A sneer came over the deserter's face, as the rifle began to rise off of his neck.

In his depleted state, Daniel's strength was evaporating. He grunted and groaned, seemingly powerless to carry the battle on his own. With the soldier's arms almost fully extended, Daniel rested his chest on the weapon in one final attempt. Focusing all of his effort, he stared down his enemy. They were face to face, locked in an epic struggle, looking at each other, eye to eye.

Suddenly, a bayonet appeared out of nowhere. In the second it took to recognize the hand that held it, Sully plunged it into the soldier's throat, just under his jaw. As the soldier's arms shuttered, and then drew limp, blood spurted first from his neck and then sputtered out of his mouth. In a second thrust, Sully rendered it home, making sure the German deserter was dead.

As Daniel fell to the side, the young woman got up and ran for the door.

"Stop!" Daniel shouted. "We won't hurt you!" He was exhausted from the fight and struggled to get up.

"We are British Soldiers," Sully hollered.

Without heeding their pleas, in an instant she was beyond the door's threshold.

Realizing their fate was in her hands, Daniel had no choice but to follow. He hollered for the woman to stop. "Wait!" he shouted. "We need your help!"

Just then, as she picked up her bicycle, she turned around and looked at Daniel. Her long skirt was partially covered in straw, and her tunic-like shirt looked dishevelled.

"Please!" he implored, before looking about. "You can't tell anyone we're here!"

After a short pause, the woman shook her head as if to comply.

"Can you tell us where we are?"

She methodically nodded her head up and down before replying: "You are in Belgium." Her voice reverberated with emotion.

"Near, which village?"

The young woman's expression was catatonic. Her wide eyes were glued to Daniel. "St. Remy is that way," she said, motioning toward the south.

"We are trying to get to Holland."

"Hollande?" she repeated. Her breathing was now slowing.

"Yes."

"It is, how do you say, a few hours that way," she said, pointing north.

"A few hours?" Daniel repeated with a smile.

"Yes, you can follow the river, the Riviere Meuse."

"Did she say a few hours?" Sully asked, as he came up behind Daniel.

"Yes... can you imagine?"

"I go now?" the young lady stated. She motioned with her bicycle toward the road.

"Are you sure you are alright?" Daniel asked.

"Yes, I am. And thank you... for what you did... for me."

"No... thank you," Sully stated. Daniel and Sully watched the girl walk her bicycle back onto the road, before she purposefully rode away.

"Three hours to freedom, mate!" Sully announced.

"Yes, well, in the meantime, what should we do with our friend?" Daniel asked, nodding his head in the deserter's direction.

"What time of the day do you make it?"

Daniel looked up, as if to guess at the sun's position in the sky. "I'd say it's about midday, wouldn't you?"

"Then we're still a long ways from dark, aren't we?" Sully suggested.

"It's too risky to look for something else."

They both looked back into the small building.

"I suppose we can drag him off to the back of the barn!"

"Alright," Sully agreed. "You grab one arm and I'll take the other."

Daniel and Sully tried to sleep before their last leg of their journey, but the vine of their best efforts was bearing little fruit. Sully kept thinking about the dead German lying motionless on the other side of the building. The deserter's revenge crept surreptitiously into Sully's mind.

Daniel, on the other hand, couldn't help imagining the boys living on without him if he had died, if he were killed, just there. His eyes opened and focused on the barn's bloody straw bedding only a few paces away. Though the remnants of adrenaline still ran through their veins, Sully was the first to become motionless. His breathing became rhythmic, predictable, almost irritating, as it almost always does to the one still awake. Daniel closed his eyes again. He wondered if Sully was dreaming. If so, what images filled his head. Daniel wanted to sleep, but not dream. He didn't want his recurring nightmare to torture him any further.

During Sully's tranquil sleep, striking scenes filled his mind. The sight of Dutch authorities opening the gates to freedom was, in turn, surpassed by images of a grand banquet. He was standing at the head of a great table; he was festooned in the finest tuxedo, bowtie, and top hat. He relished being the subject of lengthy toasts, and, of course, the object of every woman's adoration. But, while pride beamed from his smile, he looked in vain for his good friend. Sully's expression turned to one of concern. Surprisingly, his fellow Munster was missing, nowhere to be seen.

Daniel, in fact, was somewhere else. He too had finally fallen asleep, and he had become immersed in his own dream. Daniel's eyelids fluttered, his muscles flinched, foretelling that the visions running through his mind were anything but pleasant.

Daniel found his troubled soul resting in the last row, on the right side of the familiar chapel. Here, respectful nods were found in fellowship with the tenderness of captured tears. Grief joined acquaintances, both family and friends, known and unknown, as they filled the awaiting pews in front of him. Each moment seemed at odds with the next until something drew his attention to the front. The priest gestured to the organist. It was time to test the depths of their sorrow.

Yet he was not the only disaffected soul. While soldiers well and wounded, benefactors looked on, some had returned from the spiritual world. One, remarkably bandaged, sat in kinship with the essence that drifted over the casket. Seen only through lifeless eyes, a heavenly luminance hovered above its former self.

Again he gazed out over the gathering, this time from a different perspective. From the left now, he witnessed a congregation in heartfelt unity. This warmed his soul, but not his visible breath. Peering toward the Altar, above those in front of him, he dared to rest his eyes on the coffin. Although opened to view, it seemed reluctant to divulge its honoured occupant. Turning toward the back of the church, he could see two young boys softly weeping in wait. Then finding himself standing beside them, his comforting words were silent, carried on vanquished breath, unheard even by him. And then, finally, with a lyrical cue, he stood powerless beside them. The boys' aisle of anguish would wait no longer. The Ave Maria soloist began to sing.

As they passed each pew, an incredible testament began to unfold. Mourning soldiers, both of this world and the next, were transported backward through time. Bandages unfurled off some, while others were released from their plastered casts. Uniforms of all types, which had been bloodied in battle, resumed their lustre, their buttons regained their brilliance. Looking on, silently, Daniel was impressed, but not surprised. For he of all people knew the true nature of the honoured spirit, how deserving it was, how many would mourn its loss.

As Steven and David drew closer to the casket, their future remained uncertain. Were they destined, after all, to grow up as orphans, to live out their young lives in an institution, just like their father? These and other questions tormented Daniel, while both asleep and awake. Would he live to return home? Could he fulfill the covenant to which he was joined? It would be some time before Steven and David knew the fate of their father, and even longer before they possessed all the answers. But today wasn't about their father, or even them. Today was about celebrating the life of the one who had passed, the luminescent spirit, which unseen, drifted above its former self.

When the boys finally reached the Altar, they hesitated to raise their eyes, for they knew who was now resting forever. It was, indeed... their mother.

But as is the nature of grief, they were not yet fully aware of how their mother lived on, how a portion of her light was, just now, joining theirs. And although Mary felt fulfilled to brighten her sons' souls, her hovering spirit could feel another loved one was in need of her help. And so with that purpose, her spirit shone brightly on her boys. Glistening proudly, she acknowledged those present, including Jeffrey. Then with the resolve to return, Mary's luminous spirit rose up and left the chapel.

"Danny, wake up. We've got to get out of here!" Sullivan shouted. His voice came from outside the perceived safety of the small barn.

Sully thumped his fist several times on the barn's wall.

"What!" Daniel yelled.

In an instant, he shook off the unfamiliar heaviness of a deep sleep and instinctively ducked down as a succession of bullets ripped through, splintering the brittle wooden structure.

Joining his mate outside the barn, they both ran for a distant forest. As they evaded German rifle rounds, their sprinting and dodging succeeded only in beckoning three leashed Shepherds now howling for their release. Looking back anxiously to their advancing pursuers, obstacles underfoot tripped and undermined their optimism, the height of which diminished each day, by a measure, while free of a war endured in prison. Daniel's perception of time slowed, as if in proportion to the increasing gravity of an imminent life and death juncture.

Yet with hope almost lost, a river of promise could be seen in the distance. One final field would close the distance to the water's edge. But this pasture seemed too familiar. It evoked powerful yet distant memories. Suddenly uncontrollable visions flashed through Daniel's mind. In one, he and his laughing boys ran through the very field before him. As it faded into the next, he found himself lying with his love, Mary, beneath a moonless night of stirring stars. Then returning to the here and now, he dared to wonder... would he would ever see his boys again.

Suddenly, several more bullets shattered the trees beside them. Daniel and Sully ducked down, before the instinct to survive fuelled a burst of adrenaline.

"We've got to go, Danny. Now!" Sully yelled, shoving his mate forward.

Sully shouted gain, as they ran. "They're forcing us toward the river!"

"We can make it!" Daniel hollered.

While sprinting through the last field, Sully looked to his right and noticed two armed men on horseback. They were galloping on the road parallel to them, seemingly determined to cut them off before they could get into the River Meuse. If that weren't dispiriting enough, several men from the local authority were pursuing them on foot from behind.

As soon as they arrived at the water's edge, Daniel began to shed the clothing that would drag him under. First he threw off his tunic, then he kicked off his boots.

"Come on. It's our only chance," Daniel yelled.

But Sully wasn't sure. He glanced between his mate and the Germans. Then seeing their situation for what it was, again he instinctively knew what to do.

"You go, Danny. I'll hold them off!"

"What d'ya mean?" Daniel shouted. "Come on!" His voice was infused with emotion, as he quickly descended to the river's shoreline. "Why are you doing this? You said you couldn't go back!"

Sully seemed surprisingly calm. "Don't worry about me, my friend."

"Sully, no!" Daniel's expression was desperate, as he waded into the water.

"I'll be fine," Sully shouted. "I only came along to make sure you made it."

Daniel's eyes glared at his friend, while he slipped under the water. Sully began walking toward the two charging horsemen. He waved his arms frantically. "I surrender! I am unarmed!" he shouted.

"Wo ist der andere? Es waren zwei von Ihnen!" "Where is the other? There were two of you!" the horsemen yelled. As their horses fidgeted and circled about, Sully continued to distract them.

"I am alone. There is no other!"

"Schau, da ist er. Er ist im wasser!" "Look!" one of the Germans shouted. "There he is. He's in the water."

As they dismounted and pulled their rifles from their mounts, Daniel took a deep breath and went under again. He was slowly being drawn downstream by the river's northerly current. One of the soldiers seemed to be aware of this fact and began to walk up the shoreline. The other stood with Sully, holding him firmly under guard.

Suddenly, the guard pursuing Daniel stopped abruptly. He took aim and then fired one shot and then another, only to see his target disappear again under the water. Sully realized Daniel's fate was, again, in his hands. Slapping one of horses on the hindquarter, Sully leapt forward, pushing the first soldier out of the way. He then ran for the other guard, determined to give Daniel more time. The horses dispersed, but the distraction allowed the marksman to swing his rifle around in Sully's direction. The broad stock of the rifle caught Sully mid-stride, and he fell instantly.

As the second soldier kept Sully down with his boot, the first raised his rifle again; he waited for Daniel to emerge. His patience was rewarded when his target popped up again. With only his head above water, Daniel dared to look for Sully. His eyes darted up and down the shoreline. In the end his concern for his friend would be his undoing. A final shot rang out, hitting Daniel right in the neck. Violently, he flipped over from the impact.

The proud marksman laughed. "Blick auf deinen Freund jetzt!" "Look at your friend now."

Sully broke free from the second soldier and stood up. "No!" he screamed. He gazed out over the river looking for Daniel. Sully's face contorted with agony after seeing Daniel lying in the water face up, floating downstream.

"You bastard," he shouted. But just as he raised his arm to strike the German, the second raised his rifle and butted him in the head. Crack! The sound was as sickening as the sight of his mate's body drifting down the river. It was over. The pursuer claimed victory over the pursued. They laughed at Sully and his misfortune. In a state of semi-consciousness, he was dragged out toward the main road.

While Sully witnessed his and Daniel's escape attempt coming to an end, so was Frank Armstrong's nearing its conclusion. He was returned to Limburg during the early hours of the following morning. Frank was hastily searched and then thrown into a temporary cell. Its blackness was beyond disheartening. When the door slammed behind him his state of depression was compounded by the realization that he would be spending the next five months in solitary confinement.

Choosing not to lie on the vermin infested, straw-filled mattress, Frank rested his weary bones directly on the hard-planked floor. The comfort to entice sleep eluded him. He lay there, as if forced to wait for darkness to yield to the light of day. Soon enough, dawn began to find the cracks in the cell's wooden walls, and this sunrise was welcomed more than most. He wondered how things would have been different, had Junior joined his escape attempt. Then, with one thought leading to another, Frank realized he still had something of his brother's in his upper left pocket.

Pulling out the small piece of paper, he slid himself over and leaned toward the closest sliver of sunlight. It was the poem Daniel had given to Junior. Though a handful of regrets were exhaled on a large sigh, they were soon replaced by a comforting thought, that by giving one's self over to fate, to your destiny, therein lies a truth: the virtue of contentment. He recognized it on his brother's face, just before he died, and he felt it within himself now, at this very moment. He unfolded the note and began to read:

~

I am free!

~

Above green pastures I begin to drift

Beyond the grasp of indignity I soar

Over these walls my spirit I will lift

I am not captive, I am free once more

~

The burden of fear is theirs to secure

While courage are legion loyal to me

Our oath to injustice, I shall endure

From valour we forge true liberty

~

With faith I ignite my darkest hour

And humbly accept virtue's decree

If my heart adorns the flag I honour

The anthem of my soul is I am free

~

Frank groaned before rolling over onto his back. Each arm fell to the floor, his left still holding the poem. With thoughts of Junior racing through his mind, exhaustion began to gain the upper hand over discomfort. He remembered fishing with his younger brother on the banks of their favourite river, the Scioto. Neither one would make a sound, he recalled, they only listened. Nature had so much to offer. Then it occurred to him, it still does... if only in memory. As Frank nodded off to sleep, his vision left the shores of their river, and it began to drift downstream.

Before long, though, the river seemed strangely different. Frank's vision had flowed from his perspective into another. This river was just as broad, but its current was more subtle, less meandering. From an elevated perspective, the vision continued. It raced over the river and under its bridges. It was not swayed by anything, save for its purpose. And it was, if anything, purposeful. It slowed then sped off and slowed again, as if searching. Then, something appeared in the distance, along the shoreline. With an intuitive sense confirmed, it proceeded directly toward it. Was it too late?

In an instant it was above.

"Wake up," a voice whispered.

A light breeze buffeted the treed shoreline yet it seemed of little help.

"Wake up, my love!" Its tone was so heavenly.

A boot moved. Was it the lapping of the waves?

"Wake up, Daniel!" She pleaded.

The luminescence hovered over him. Its light was as pure as love itself.

"WAKE UP!" Mary shouted!

Suddenly, he gasped.

Daniel... was alive!

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

### In God's hands

I love thee with the breath, smiles,

tears, of all my life! And, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

E.B. Browning

Daniel awoke abruptly. His water soaked body convulsed and thrashed about. Ancestral memories were reborn, overruling everything cognitive, anything rational. He gasped for air to fill his lungs. Glaring and darting about, his eyes were but portals of his survival instinct. Then, like a bolt of lightning, the nerves in his neck were connected to his brain. Daniel's hand lurched to his throat, as a searing pain jolted him back to semi-consciousness. With his caked-on blood speaking to his fingers, he discovered how narrowly he had avoided death; the bullet had passed right through his flesh, narrowly missing his vitals.

Realizing the next few moments would determine whether he lived or died, Daniel glanced toward the shoreline. How long had he been in the water? The answer lay in the absence of feeling in his legs. His mind was beginning to work now; it understood only one thing mattered. He had to get himself out of the water.

Like a wounded animal, Daniel began to crawl. The dryness of land was not far, but the embankment was steep. He reached out with one hand and then the other. His forearms lifted and carried his torso forward. His legs dragged behind him, distorting the perception of distance and any sense of accomplishment. Though by this time consciousness was both friend and foe, Daniel's struggle was fuelled with determination; the conviction to influence the outcome of more than just his own life drove him forward. Every breath was inhaled for one and exhaled for another.

After making it to the top, a hazy silhouette appeared in the distance. Was it a barn, or better yet, a house? Did compassion exist within? He opened his mouth to yell, but his words drifted in silence. Again they were carried as if on vanquished breath.

With only anguish distinguishing itself, Daniel's body denied his mind's desire. He was unable to go any further. Formidable adversaries on their own, exhaustion and hypothermia now seemed insurmountable when allied. If he wasn't found soon, Daniel knew he would surely die. In one last gesture, he raised his right hand. Yet as hard as he tried, it too fell short. By now the physical exertion was beyond him. With the desire falling unsurpassed by the effort, Daniel fell into unconsciousness once more.

As several hours passed, Daniel's fate drifted to and from all earthly concern. And despite the fact his life hung in the balance, one virtue remained. Loyalty! Not of any earthly or human likeness, but of a heavenly representation. With the purity of the former being born only of the latter, loyalty and love drifted together. As one, their luminescence hovered over him. As long as Daniel's spirit remained... so would Mary's.

~ ~ ~

It was breakfast time at the boys' dormitory and both Steve and Dave were watching, wondering if every meal was this eventful. Sister Margaret, an older lay nun was letting loose on one of the older lads. "Didn't your parents ever teach you the meaning of respect?" she jousted. A stout cane supported her bent-over, weary body, and a full-length black dress was topped with a headscarf of the same colour.

Norman Slatter was unintimidated by Sister Margaret's scowl, her crooked nose, her tobacco stained teeth. "Did yours ever teach you how to cook?" he boldly retorted.

The dozen or so other boys laughed as Master Slatter stood up from his seat and took a bow.

"One more word out of you, young man, and you'll be on bread and water."

Hearing the raucous from the dormitory, Sister Claudia wasted little time descending the stairs and entering the room. "Alright, that's enough of that!" She firmly stated. She waded into the fray not to defend her fellow Nun, but to see that her elder's disposition and tongue were found fitting to her calling. For the boys' cook could dish it out in more ways than one.

Sister Claudia stopped at the second of only two tables in the room. Steve and Dave were sitting at one, while the disturbance unfolded at the other. "Is there something I can help you with, Sister Margaret?"

"Oh, he's on about the porridge, again. But you can tell him for me, if he's not careful he'll be meetin' the likes of St. Peter before I do."

Sister Margaret grabbed a pipe from her informal headdress and clenched it between her teeth. As she puffed on its empty bowl, her familiar feistiness seemed to accentuate the deep wrinkles on her face.

Norman turned to Sister Claudia. "If it's by her hand, it'll be the porridge that puts us all into an early grave."

Sister Margaret came alive again. "Let me assure you, Master Slatter, if it be by my hand, it'll be this cane that ushers you through the gates of St. Peter." When Sister Margaret waved her walking stick in Norman's direction, the room was filled with snickers.

"All right, Sister Margaret, I'll take it from here. And that'll be enough out of you, Mr. Slatter," Sister Claudia ordered, trying to calm Norman down.

"He'll have to atone for his conduct," Sister Margaret announced.

"I agree," said Sister Claudia, "and I can't think of a penance more appropriate than for you to spend the rest of the day helping Sister Margaret in the kitchen."

"I said he should atone for his conduct, not I," the elder nun stated, physically jousting at her young adversary.

"That's enough. That's enough, I say."

As Sister Claudia physically put herself between the two combatants, everyone's attention was drawn to a familiar throat clearing sound coming from the entrance to the room. It was Mother Superior, Sister Benedict.

"What, may I ask, is going on here?" she said slowly and deliberately.

The room instantly fell silent. While the boys quickly refocused their attention on their breakfast, Sister Margaret removed her pipe from her mouth and attempted to slink her way back to her kitchen.

Sister Benedict continued in her dispassionate tone. "Please don't leave us just yet, Sister Margaret."

Sister Claudia turned to face her Mother Superior. Being the convent's youngest nun, Sister Benedict was nearly four times Sister Claudia's senior.

"It's alright, Reverend Mother," Sister Claudia began, her voice almost cracking under the glare of her superior. "It was only a minor disagreement. Master Slatter was about to apologize to Sister Margaret, weren't you Norman?" she added, turning back toward him.

"Y-yes, of course, Sister Claudia," he offered. Norman Slatter seemed to assume a contrite deportment, one consistent with the expectation of an inevitable browbeating. As Sister Benedict slowly walked into the room, her disciplined demeanour cast and intimidating shadow. She stopped at the first table and found the younger boys daring not look up. Their porridge suddenly became very edible.

"I would agree," she concurred, "that an apology is in order. But is that all... Sister Claudia?" After placing her hand on the head of one of the boys, she looked up inquisitively at the young nun.

Sister Claudia stated: "Asking for forgiveness is always the first step..."

"Towards what?" Sister Benedict interjected.

"Why... God granting it, of course." Sister Claudia answered.

"But does God grant forgiveness to all who ask for it? And should He? If the answer to that question is yes, then where does that leave us with regard to... discipline? Is the virtue of restraint... of self-control an ill-gotten pursuit?"

"Discipline," Sister Claudia began, before being interrupted.

"And is it wise, Sister Claudia," Mother Superior interjected again, "to question the value of what our parents taught us... when many of us came to this convent in the same way Moses came to Pharaoh's sister?"

Sister Claudia felt a familiar sting from her Mother Superior. Her heart felt troubled, moreover hurt. Not by the knowledge that she had come to the Marist Convent in the way Sister Benedict had suggested, or that her Mother Superior didn't mind embarrassing her in front of the boys. What bothered her most was the fact that her Mother Superior never hesitated in pointing out her perceived inadequacies when it came to being, what she thought she was... a worthy nun.

Mother Superior looked about the room and purposefully overlooked Sister Claudia. "So then, before Mr. Slatter reports to my office, who can tell me what their mother or father taught them about discipline?"

An answer was too elusive.

"Anybody, hmm?" She asked.

In the absence of any response, Steve dared to look up at Sister Benedict.

"Yes, you are one of the Donoghue boys, aren't you? What is your name?"

"My name is Steven."

"Do you have an answer for us, Steven?"

Steve looked at Sister Benedict. "My father told me discipline is being in control of your feelings. It's like having something to say but knowing when not to say it."

For a moment it seemed as though Steve's answer took some of the sting out of Sister Benedict's temperament.

"Yes, well," she began, before pausing. "I think that would be wisdom you're talking about."

Sister Claudia looked at Steve and returned his smile. "They complement each other nicely, don't they?"

"Nevertheless, a fine answer young man," Mother Superior said. "Mr Slatter, your apology. Get on with it."

A young Mr. Slatter turned to Sister Margaret. "Sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

"Ah, it's alright, boy... a good row now and again does the heart good."

"Alright," said Sister Benedict. "Let's finish up this breakfast. We don't want to be late for Father Murtagh's service." After walking over to the front door, she turned around and stood adjacent to its threshold.

As each boy passed her by, she counted them by tapping her thimbled-finger on each of their heads. In turn, they lined up outside in pairs, as they always did. From there, they would march over to St. Joseph's Catholic Church for their morning Mass.

~ ~ ~

If she represented the light of the world, then every virtue burned within her. She now embodied their pinnacle, the peak of the continuum on which humanity exists. Yet if all of mankind's aspirations could be reduced, then refined, they were further distilled in her. Purified, she was, as if innocence and righteousness were bound by something even greater than themselves. She had become nothing less than the foundation of all moral thought, the basis for all ethical behaviour. And while integrity, compassion and self-sacrifice were but ingredients of her character, in a word what remained of her... was Love.

Representing nothing less than a beacon for all humanity, paradoxically, her love would be gifted to only a few, a few to whom she was bound, and to one whom she was avowed. 'Till death do us part,' seemed so human now, so physical. Though she was no longer of Daniel's world, she would be part of him soon. He would live both for her and for them, if he didn't die. And with little time left, there was but one thing left to do.

There was something in the distance, a dog, perhaps. Could she get its attention? She brightened her light, this time exceeding even her own expectations. Her luminance grew, as if she were selflessly burning herself up. Suddenly, the dog looked over. Something caught its eye. The Shepherd took one step, then another, before deliberately trotting towards the light. Within seconds, he was upon them. Had she had done it? To her relief, the dog began barking. Not at the man lying unconscious on the ground, but at the light hovering above him. He barked incessantly.

Only a few moments passed before a voice could be heard in the distance.

"Kalin!" someone shouted. "Kalin, eriesse!" "Kalin, stop!"

A woman emerged from a farmhouse a hundred feet away.

"Vinre sial, Kalin. Vinre solko todreu!" "Come here, Kalin. Come here at once."

Kalin could not hear her. His instinct possessed him.

While walking toward him, she asked, "Pokoi ti hawer?" "What are you barking at?"

The dog barked, while Mary waited patiently.

"Kalin!" she repeated, "what are you...?" she stopped abruptly.

Did her eyes deceive her? If not, why was Kalin barking at something in mid-air? In the time it took for her question what she saw, Mary's spirit descended into Daniel. As if to define the limits of mortality by the breadth of eternity, finally, Mary and Daniel... were together again.

"Oh Bon Diou!" she exclaimed. She stared at the motionless man in front of her.

"Are... are you alright?"

She stood two or three metres away from him and waited anxiously for a response. None came.

"Can you hear me?"

Another voice came from the house. "What is it, Maman?"

The woman threw out her arm, gesturing for the other not to come closer. "Stay there, Julli!" She shouted. "Put Kalin on his chain, will you!" She turned to the dog and ordered, "Go Kalin, Go."

Walking towards the man, she dared to look closer. He lay on his stomach with his head turned to the right. His right arm, the one he had held up, was still reaching forward, his hand still clutching the grass. His face was buried in his shirtsleeve.

Bravely kneeling by his side, the woman checked for the man's breathing; it went undetectable. He was wet and cold. Compulsively, she checked further. She had to see if he were alive or dead. Placing her hand on his blood-encrusted neck, she searched for a pulse. Seconds passed like minutes, with nothing obvious.

"Maman," her daughter called. Juliet walked several paces toward them and then stopped.

"What is it, Maman?"

"Don't come any further!" her mother yelled, turning her head toward her. "It's a man. I think he is dead."

As Jeanette continued looking for any sign of life, a confusing spectrum of emotions swept through her mind. Relief, at the uncomplicated discovery of death was soon replaced by an instinctive desire to nurture life.

She looked at the man lying before her and wondered, for a moment, how his life had come into hers, how this life and death juncture had fallen into her hands. She dared to indulge her positive spirit. She searched further. Then glancing upward, her fingers worked to confirm the faintest of all hope. Her eyes brightened, as her face welcomed the birth of a smile.

"You're alive," she whispered. And with such a realization, she knew there was only one thing to do.

"Juli, come here quickly."

Julliette ran towards her mother then cautiously came to a stop several paces away. Her mother turned to her with a look of concern.

"Get me the big cart from the clinic," she stated, "the one with the two big wheels."

"Shouldn't we wait for Bon-papa?" Juliette asked. Her face was wrought with uncertainty.

"No. There's no time for that." Jeanette got up quickly. "I'll get a blanket and we'll meet back here. Now hurry."

"Alright, Maman."

If Jeanette seemed to possess the voice of experience, it was something she earned while assisting her father in his veterinarian clinic, the one attached to their home.

Moments later, they were again at Daniel's side.

"How are we going to get him onto the cart?" Juliette asked.

"I think we should put the blanket down beside him and roll him over onto it. Then we can tip the cart down and... and drag him onto it by pulling the blanket."

"Is that the way Bon-papa does it?"

"It is, with the bigger animals."

After stretching out the blanket, they both knelt down beside him.

"Now, let's turn him over together. One, two, three, turn." The man rolled over on top of the blanket, putting a face to the near lifeless body.

"Bon Diou!" Juliette gasped. She put her left hand over her mouth and fell backward. She gazed incredulously at the man before her.

"It's alright, Juli. Don't be afraid," her mother reassured her. Thinking it was the face of near death that startled her daughter, Jeanette wrapped the blanket around Daniel.

"Now you move the cart into position."

Juliette sat motionless. Her gaze was affixed to Daniel's dirt and bloodstained face.

Jeanette was help in motion. "Juli, the cart!"

Still, Juliette did nothing. "We must save this man's life, Maman," she stated, in a trance-like manner.

"Yes, of course, we are going to try."

Jeanette moved the two-wheeled cart herself and tipped it down toward Daniel's head. But, instead of helping her mother, Juliette moved closer to get a better look at his face.

"No Maman," she stated in a stronger tone. "We must save this man's life!"

"We haven't much time, Juli. Come here and take the other side of this blanket."

Again, Jeanette's words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Juliette leaned over Daniel and, with the corner of her apron, began to clean his face.

"Juli, what are you doing? Come here and help me."

Juliette continued, moving her apron-covered fingers from Daniel's forehead to his cheeks.

"Juli," her mother stated, before letting go of the blanket, "you're not making any sense." She joined her daughter, standing by Daniel's side. "What do you mean we must save this man's life?"

"Because, Maman... he saved mine."

Jeanette looked at her daughter in disbelief. "What do you mean he saved your life? I don't understand. When did this happen? How come you're only telling me this now?" The questions flooded forth.

"I'm sorry, Maman." Juliette offered. She let go of her apron and sat back. "I guess I was too ashamed," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Ashamed?" her mother repeated. "Juli, you're scaring me."

With a gamut of scenarios racing through her mind, Jeanette quickly sat down beside her daughter. She was obviously shaken by the admission.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Maman. At least, that is to say... thanks to this man."

Juliette looked briefly into her mother's eyes. Though Jeanette's initial anxiety was only somewhat relieved, she listened closely as her daughter related her harrowing story.

As she compulsively fiddled with her apron, Juliette explained her ordeal, of how the man before them had saved her from being raped, possibly killed. She glanced to and from her mother's sympathetic eyes. Though each moment of eye contact served only to deepen the wound inflicted by each word, each sentence, Jeanette refused to allow free reign to the visions that wanted to unfold in her mind. Somehow every word wanted to connect the present with the past. With each revelation, she saw more than just a youthful reflection of herself.

Juliette was the daughter of Jeanette and the late Manfred Hagmann, a soldier of the Belgian Army. Fred, as he was called, had made the ultimate sacrifice in the early days of the war. If Jeanette was proud of what her husband did for his country, Manfred had always counted the blessings of a beautiful wife and daughter.

Though Juliette's allure was crowned by blonde, shoulder length hair, the same colour as her father's, Jeanette's was darker, closer to that of her father's, Claude Swolfs. Being the patriarch of three generations, Claude was a successful veterinarian before the war. His experience included tending to both large and small animals. With the first year of his seventh decade witnessing its commencement, he was loathe to admit the war had seen an end to his optimistic spirit. Being stoic by nature, his spryness had faded beneath the shadow of his loss, that of his wife and son-in-law. While Claude defined himself by his trade in his younger years, the last four had distilled his integrity into wisdom, compelling him to focus on something more important; his remaining loved ones.

"I suppose I was afraid of what you and Bon-papa would say!" Juliette admitted. Her expression suggested, in hindsight, a more forthcoming approach would have been more appropriate.

"All that matters now is that we still have each other."

While wiping away her tears, Juliette only looked at her mother and nodded. In each of their expressions they saw their common determination reborn.

As Juliet and her mother pulled on the blanket, they each struggled to get the cart into place. In moments, the stranger was laying over its two big wheels. His legs bent at the knees, dangling from behind.

"Alright, you pull as I push!" Jeanette instructed.

"Yes, Maman."

As the gurney bumped across the yard, a plan began to unfold in Jeanette's mind.

"We'll put him on the spare bed in the clinic. The one you slept on when Kalin came to us."

As Kalin tested his leash, Juliette smiled at him as they passed. She remembered how he had recovered under her care.

"If you can hold him steady, I'll get the doors," Jeanette suggested, referring to the double doorway into the clinic.

In several minutes, the stranger was lying comfortably in the room's only bed.

The clinic was a rectangular addition to the main house, with an adjoining anteroom connecting the two. While an operating table split the medium-sized room in two, many cages, which were empty of their usual inhabitants, flanked the two outside walls. Its only human bed was located at one end of the clinic between Claude's desk and the end wall. There, in a quiet corner, their newest arrival lay in a place where it was hoped he wouldn't be found.

"He looks to be about your father's size."

"You want to use Father's clothes?"

"I think under the circumstances, he would approve."

"Of course, Maman."

"Would you mind getting them? They're in a box at the bottom of the wardrobe. I'll get these damp clothes off of him."

Only moments had passed when Juliette returned. She stopped abruptly after being startled by the stranger's appearance.

"Mama!" Juliette exclaimed. "He seems so thin!" Modestly, she turned her head to the side.

"He's an escaped prisoner. I'm sure of it."

For a moment, Juliette dared to glance at the stranger. He was clothed only in his undergarments.

"Help me to get him dressed before he catches a chill."

Juliette handed her mother the dry clothes. At first she helped, but as it was a job more for one than two, she stood back. "What do you think Bon-papa is going to say?" she asked.

"You leave that to me."

While helping with the sleeves of a dark blue wool shirt, Juliette confided, "I'm not ashamed anymore, Maman." After her mother gently laid him back down, they both took a moment to look at him. "I will tell Bon-papa," Juliette decided.

"We'll see," Jeanette answered.

When Kalin began barking in the backyard the alert was raised again. Jeanette quickly leaned over the bed to open the curtains above the bed. Gazing out the window, her gasp caught Juliette by surprise.

"What's wrong, Maman?"

"There's someone approaching the house."

Juliette strained to get a look for herself. "Who is it?"

"I don't know. Maybe you should go and get Kalin and then bring him inside."

As Juliette proceeded to get Kalin, her mother passed through the anteroom and into the main part of the house. The ground floor was fairly large with a staircase separating the kitchen area from the front parlour. While walking past its hearth and welcoming seating area, toward the house's front entrance, she took a brief moment to look out the curtained window beside the door. Seeing who it was, each successive knock caused her heart to sink further. It was an officer of a German patrol.

After collecting herself, Jeanette opened the door. Her expression was politely inquisitive.

"Guten Tag," "Good afternoon," she announced. After French and Dutch, German was her third language.

"Guten Tag, Frau. Mein name ist Kapitän von Boetticher." At the instant his heels clicked together, he gave Jeanette an informal salute with his riding crop.

"What can I do for you, Captain?"

"If you will please forgive my intrusion, Madame, I am here this afternoon on an official inquiry."

Captain von Boetticher cast his eyes beyond Jeanette and into the house. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Jeanette replied.

She could see a second soldier in the yard holding the reins of two mounts. While slowly closing the door behind him, she couldn't help noticing the extent to which the Captain's youthfulness defied his rank. His Feld Grau uniform was crisp and well fitted, to which riding boots and a sidearm Luger pistol complimented his officiousness.

He confidently walked into the room, removing his field cap. "Are you the only one home this afternoon, Madame...?"

"Hagmann is my husband's name," she stated, completing his query.

"Ah ... ein guter Deustcher Name! A good German name."

"You said you were here on an inquiry. May I ask what it is about?"

Captain von Boetticher turned to face Jeanette. "We are conducting an investigation in your area to see if you have encountered anything suspicious... in the past day or so?"

"Suspicious... can you be more specific, Captain?"

"Of course, Madame," he replied, as if inquisitive of Jeanette's deportment. "I am looking for an escaped prisoner."

With his tactic yielding nothing, the Captain tucked his riding crop under his left arm and began to take off his gloves. His confidence seemed the better part of arrogance, as he removed one finger at a time. Though Jeanette's demeanour remained stoic, she was relieved by a timely distraction. At that moment, the anteroom door opened and Juliette appeared. While holding Kalin tightly by the collar, Juliette was pulled unceremoniously into the room.

The Captain turned towards her. "Ah, Fraulein," he politely acknowledged.

"Juliette, this is Captain von Boetticher. Captain, this is my daughter, Juliette Hagmann."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Fraulein," the Captain announced, nodding in her direction.

Juliette returned the gesture and held on tightly, as Kalin tested her grip. Her mother continued. "The Captain is asking if we have seen anything suspicious these past few days."

"Do you mean the escaped prisoner?"

The Captain's attention was nearly drawn to Jeanette's gasp.

"Yes ... the escaped prisoner," the Captain repeated, while glancing toward Jeanette. "When did you last see him?" He looked back at Juliette.

"Which one, Captain?" Jeanette interjected. "You must know the countryside is full of them."

Captain von Boetticher's smile seemed somewhat menacing, as he turned from Juliette to glare at her mother.

"The man I am looking for would have been in your area recently."

"I saw a stranger yesterday." Juliette quickly divulged. "I was on my way home from Aunt Therese's when a man passed me on the road. He walked right by me, saying nothing."

"In what sort of condition was he?"

Juliette reflected momentarily in order to offer a more convincing testimony.

"Well, it looked as though he was wounded. He asked me for water, but I had none to give him."

"You didn't do anything to help him?"

"Of course not, Captain, we are forbidden from helping escaped prisoners."

"Then you are wise, Fraulein. If you don't mind me inquiring further, in which direction did he proceed?"

"He continued down the road, that way," she stated, pointing in the appropriate direction.

"Well, then, you have been very helpful, both of you. My investigation shall include a note of your sincere cooperation." Though the Captain's demeanour softened somewhat, and he glanced politely at both of them, Jeanette could sense this was a man lacking in trust. Her instinct was screaming danger and every one of her senses were in complete agreement.

Desiring to extend his visit, the Captain turned his attention toward the dog. "Is this the one who was making all the noise?"

"Kalin is his name." Juliette answered. She held on tightly, though, as Kalin continued to test her grip.

"I wonder if Kalin has seen anything." Captain von Boetticher mused. "If dogs could only talk, I wonder what they would say." The Captain chuckled. "But then again," he said, smiling, "maybe I wouldn't want to hear what he thinks about my intrusion today."

As if on cue, Kalin confirmed the Captain's suspicions by baring his teeth. In response, Captian von Boetticher straightened his posture. Kalin's disposition changed dramatically, though, after sensing another pair of footsteps approaching the house. The front door opened. It was Claude, Jeanette's father.

"Papa, I am so glad you are home," Jeanette said. Her sense of relief was discernible.

After exchanging an embrace, Claude directed his attention toward the Captain. "I see you have company."

"Yes, this is Captain von Boetticher. He is here making inquiries about an escaped prisoner."

"An escaped prisoner?" Claude repeated. "He must be a man of some importance."

"Why would you make such an assertion?"

Claude chuckled. "You know as well as I do, Captain, the woods are full of them. If they're not escaped prisoners they are deserters." Claude glanced at Kalin and sternly ordered, "Kalin... here!" Kalin quickly obeyed by breaking Julie's grip and taking his place beside his master. A firm caress to his head was his reward.

Captain von Boetticher disguised the fact he resented Claude's inference. And with Claude being the taller of the two men, the Captain resented being looked down upon, both physically and intellectually.

"In this sector, Herr Swolfs, I have at my disposal all the means necessary to pursue and apprehend our common enemy."

"If I may be as presumptuous, Captain, the only thing we in this room have in common is our desire to live long enough to witness an end to this war. And for myself, I might add... regardless of the outcome."

"May I also suggest, Herr Swolfs," the Captain interrupted, "I have the authority to deal harshly with any and all collaborators."

Again, Kalin sensed the timing was right to show his teeth and let loose a subdued growl.

"Quiet, Kalin," Claude ordered, before turning to his daughter and granddaughter. "Have you anything further to say to the Captain?"

"I already have their version of the events."

Claude looked at his daughter, and then Juliette. "Version... of what events?" Jeanette quickly shook her head as if to suggest he not pursue the matter.

"Well, then Captain, I can assure you I have not seen anything suspicious in the past few days."

The Captain's demeanour changed, as though he were finally willing to show some respect. "Do I have your word on it, Herr Swolfs?"

Claude concurred. "You do, Captain. Now if there is nothing further, it is getting late." He took a step backward and opened the front door.

"It is obvious I have prevailed upon your hospitality long enough," the Captain agreed, before snapping his heels together. After making his way to the door, he turned to make one final comment.

"Frau Hagmann, Fraulein, Herr Swolfs, I hope our next meeting occurs under more pleasant circumstances." The Captain then purposefully looked at Juliette.

But her mother was all too protective. "It is our hope as well," Jeanette quickly interjected.

"Then I bid you, auf weidersehen!" the Captain said, before leaving the house.

After closing the door, Claude appeared incredulous. "Can you believe it? Boys are all they have left." He put his hands on his hips. "Alright, who wants to explain their version of events first?"

Jeanette nervously sat down on the parlour's settee. As if to decide who would speak, both mother and daughter looked at each other for a moment. But, before either one could get a word out, Claude noticed Kalin alerting him to something beyond the door to the anteroom.

He began to walk toward the dog. "Have you not been fed either, old man?"

After her grandfather walked passed her, Juliette responded to her mother's gesture for her to sit down beside her.

"Father, we need to talk to you about something."

"Go ahead, I'm listening." After stopping at the entrance to the anteroom, Claude noticed him scratch at the door. "What's the matter, boy?" He complied with the dog's request and opened the door to the anteroom.

Jeanette nudged her daughter to speak up. "Don't bother yourself with that, Bon-papa. I will take care of it!"

Claude remained distracted.

"Please, Papa," Jeanette insisted, "I have something to explain to you!"

"Can't it wait until supper?" Claude asked, disappearing into the anteroom.

With an agitated tone, Jeanette continued to raise her voice. "You may not have much of an appetite after you hear what I have to tell you."

"I see your supper is not ready either," Claude said loudly enough for his daughter to hear.

"Papa, could you please come and sit down for a moment!"

Claude then noticed Kalin was not interested in his food bowl. He was sitting at attention, fidgeting in front of the door that led to the clinic.

"Is there something in the hospital you want, boy?" Claude said, as if to himself.

"Bon-papa, please!" Juliette raised her voice.

"Before you go any further, there's something you have to hear!"

"Did Juli pick up another stray?" Claude asked, before opening the door to the clinic.

"No, there's a man in there," said Jeanette.

"Good God!" Claude shouted. "There's a man in here!" He burst back into the house. "What is that man doing in our hospital?" His expression was as exasperated as Jeanette's was frustrated.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you."

Claude couldn't have looked more serious. "Do you realize you... you've put yourselves in great danger?"

"Papa, will you now please come here and sit down. We have some explaining to do."

"Please tell me he's not the man the Captain is looking for. If... if the Captain were to find out we are hiding him... we would all be arrested!"

Claude dropped himself into a seat facing his daughter and granddaughter. Distraught, he caressed his forehead as if that would help in resolving their predicament.

"I found him this afternoon by the river's edge."

Claude seemed focused on formulating a solution and less concerned with Jeanette's explanation. "The Captain's eagerness to follow through on his threats should not be underestimated."

"We couldn't just leave him for dead, Bon-papa," Juliette added.

Claude rose to his feet and began to pace. "I need time to think this through."

"You said yourself, Papa, we intervene where we can and we leave the rest in God's hands."

"Yes, well, this time," Claude began to say, but after looking over at Jeanette, he noticed she and Juliette were staring at something beyond him. Claude quickly turned around and saw the man standing in the doorway.

"What's... all the hollering about?" the stranger said. His voice was both faint and raspy. With one hand he held his neck, the other he grasped the doorframe.

All three were both silent and motionless.

"Where am I?"

They all began to answer simultaneously before Claude extended his hand, claiming the right to speak first. "You're near Leige, Belgium."

"What is your name?" Jeanette asked next. After getting up, she walked over to and stood next to her father.

"My name is Daniel Donoghue. I'm a British soldier."

"Do you remember me?" Juliette asked, slowly standing up.

Daniel tried to focus his eyes on her. He squinted several times. "You are the girl," he began to say, before collapsing in the doorway. Claude managed only a step in Daniel's direction, before he was passed by both his daughter and granddaughter.

"We should get you back to bed." Jeanette ordered. She and Juliette attempted to pick Daniel up.

"I'll get you something to eat after we get you comfortable," Juliette added.

Claude shook his head while his daughter and granddaughter helped the stranger toward the clinic. "You're in good hands, my friend," he stated, sarcastically.

He watched Kalin anxiously following Daniel into the clinic. "And if it's not too much trouble," Claude added, this time raising his voice, "I, too, would like a bit of supper before retiring this evening."

It was several minutes before Jeanette emerged from the clinic, and after joining her father in the kitchen, she found him rummaging for his dinner. "There's not much here, but I think he needs it more than I do," Claude said.

"I'm sorry, Father, for..."

"Don't be," he interjected. He continued to look for something to eat. "I would have done the same thing if I were in your shoes."

"He wasn't awake for long, but he did say he has been a prisoner for more than four years."

Claude turned and looked at his daughter. "Four years, is that what he said?"

"Yes, four years. I can't imagine how anyone could survive being a prisoner for that long."

Claude reflected for a moment. He thought back to some vivid memories from the first days of the war.

"He must have been with the first group of British soldiers to arrive in France. Maybe he is one of the Old Contemptibles."

Jeanette continued. "Is it quite possible, then, that this is not his first time in Belgium?"

"It is."

"Maybe he has done much for our country."

Claude smiled and nodded. It was one of those moments with which he was very familiar, one where he realized the futility of resistance. For it would only be a matter of time before seniority acquiesced to youth, a grandfather's wrinkles relented to beauty, and stubbornness succumbed to compassion.

Juliette suddenly appeared behind her mother. "He has done more than you know, Bon-papa!"

Both Claude and Jeanette turned and saw Juliette standing in the doorway.

"Yes, Papa," Jeanette agreed, "Juliette has something she would like to tell you."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

### Integrity is its own reward

'Ordinary riches can be stolen, real riches cannot.

In your soul are infinitely precious things

that cannot be taken from you.

Oscar Wilde

The sound of the gate closing behind him echoed horribly in his mind. It was obvious the guard took pleasure in his deliberate act of intimidation. It was cruel, though, to taunt them. After all, the small group of men looked so dejected, so defeated. Having been collected from various jails across the countryside, you would think theirs were the faces of criminals. They certainly looked the part. They were treated as such.

But how subtle is the veil through which one's perception is deceived and the truth is obscured. In reality, these men had not broken any laws; they did not deserve any shameful accusation. In fact, they were only doing their duty, a soldier's duty. Yes, if theirs was, in part, a self-imposed ordeal, it was journey designed to begin... not end, at the foreboding gates of Limburg.

"Now there's a sorry looking lot," Hobber suggested.

He and Shaw stood at the corner of their barrack. They looked on with a degree of empathy as the latest arrivals were searched.

"Hobber!" Shaw said quietly. "Does that look like Sullivan to you?"

"Which one?" Hobson asked.

"Second row on the left."

Hobson looked down the short column of men, now seeing beyond their bearded faces. "Sully?" was all he said.

The armed escort began to march their detail across the compound. Shaw threw his cigarette to the ground. "You'd better find Foley," he stated. "Tell'm Sully's back. And you'd better also tell'm... he'll be need'n the works."

For a moment, Hobber and Shaw watched the small group of escapees do their best to imitate their former selves, the proud soldiers they once were.

"Looks like they've had a good going over," said Shaw. After getting a better look at his mate, he felt his teeth grit together. Empathy yielded to anger.

"It'll be Number One for them, I'm sure." Hobson suggested, referring to the Special No. 1 confinement. Shaw knew dark cells would be accompanied by only black bread and water.

"While you're arranging for the food and clothes, I'll try to find out what happened to Danny."

Hobber left to find Foley. At the same time, Shaw walked quickly to intersect with the escort before it reached the dreaded row of cells. In moments the stride of Shaw's concern was keeping pace with Sully's escort.

"Sully!" he shouted.

Sully only tilted his head in Shaw's direction, his empty eyes speaking for him.

"Sully, where's Danny?"

With more than one guard trying to prevent any contact, Shaw remained undaunted. He continued to approach his friend.

"Sully!" he yelled again. "What happened to Daniel?"

Sully only looked longingly at Shaw and shook his head.

Shaw slowed and then came to a stop. Faced with the shock of losing another mate, he caressed his forehead. "Not our Danny Boy," he said, quietly.

"Schauen Sie der Kapellmeister Zurûckkomen!" "Look, the Conductor is back." The guard laughed, shoving Sully into his cell.

"Yes," another guard agreed before joining his comrade in front of Sully's doorway. "I think The Commandant will want to interrogate you himself."

Sully looked dirty and dishevelled, but didn't want to let on how disheartened he truly was. "If it's an encore performance he wants, you can tell Herr Exner I'll be happy to oblige."

It took only a moment for the two guards to comprehend Sully's comment.

The smile was wiped from the guards' faces. "Schwein Hund Englander!" the first one hollered, before slamming the door.

Now totally alone, Sully collapsed onto the dirty, straw filled mattress. Everything about his new accommodation repulsed him. In the time it took for every one of his five senses to be offended, he heard a quiet knocking coming from the cell adjacent to him. After Sully sat up, there came a second succession of taps.

"Sully, is that you?" someone whispered. "Sully, it's me, Frank."

"Frank?" Sully repeated.

Suddenly, a fidgeting sound came from the wall itself. One of the boards in the partition began to move. Seconds later, Sully watched with amazement as it was removed entirely. First a hand appeared and then a face.

"Sully, its Frank Armstrong. I could say glad to see you, but... I'm sorry it couldn't have been under better circumstances."

Sully shook his hand while considering his reply. "Better circumstances, of course," Sully's said. His tone was flat and dejected.

"Not to worry, my friend. I guess you made it further than I did."

"Aye, I guess we did."

Frank continued with a hushed, but enthusiastic voice. He was glad to have someone to talk to. "Where's your partner, did he make it?"

"My partner?" Sully repeated.

"Yeah, you know...Danny."

Sully slumped back down into his mattress, leaving Frank to consider if he was being too inquisitive. Descending further into his state of depression, Sully sat there wondering if he could bring himself to say the words.

"Danny didn't make it!" he stuttered, his head still swirling in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, Sully. I really am."

Frank could see that Sully was despondent, but gave himself over to the strategy of intervening rather than withdrawing. "Hey, you must be hungry. I've got a few things that'll do you some good. You know, raise your spirits a little."

Frank continued to whisper encouragement even though Sully's mind was beginning to fade out their one-sided conversation. Distracted, Sully turned his head to the side. Frank kept talking, but Sully wasn't listening. His thoughts left his small cell; they drifted back in time to surroundings more pleasant, to circumstances more enjoyable.

~ ~ ~

"What are you smiling about?" Sully asked.

"Mary."

"Who's Mary?"

Daniel stared at the letter in his hands.

"My future wife!" he proudly answered. "She doesn't know it yet but..."

"Your future wife?" Sully interjected. "Don't be a fool. You'll never make the Marriage Roll."

"I'd be a fool not to."

Sully could see the look in his friend's eyes. He paused, allowing the moment to be etched into the context of their friendship. "Then you are a lucky man, my friend."

"Lucky... perhaps," Daniel said, glancing from Sully to his letter. "All I know is today I feel blessed. Blessed in every way a man should be."

Daniel looked up and returned Sully's stare. It was as if each of them recognised from this moment on some things would never be the same.

"Aye, my friend, aren't we both?" Sully suggested.

After Daniel nodded in agreement. Sully watched his friend look down at his letter. Daniel couldn't contain another exuberant smile.

~ ~ ~

Sully exhaled the cell's foul air and rested his elbows on his knees. After covering his face with his hands, further memories rushed in to accompany him.

~ ~ ~

"I don't know which is worse," Daniel complained, "crossing the French countryside by foot or the Sindh Desert by train."

As the Royal Munster Fusiliers marched the last part of their journey, the leg that would bring them into their reserve position in Belgium, the unusual heat of August 1914 took its toll on the men.

"Do you remember those cool autumn evenings on the Rock?" While trying to take their minds off the incessant marching, Sully thought back to their first posting together, the Rock of Gibraltar.

"You're torturing me Sully." As Daniel jostled his pack into a better position, the signs of excessive perspiration were evident on everyone, even on the Officers.

"I can almost smell it... the ocean, I mean," he said.

"What I wouldn't do for a cool breeze right now."

By now their marching had become mechanical, their rhythmic limbs but devices in need of so much lubrication.

"Say, Danny," Sully asked as they passed several soldiers suffering from heat exhaustion, "If it looks as though I'm about to join the ranks of the straggler..."

"Not to worry, mate," Daniel interjected, "I'll be sure to inform the Kaiser that it would be very bad manners if he were to start the party before all of his honoured guests arrived."

Sully looked at Daniel before sharing a welcomed laugh.

~ ~ ~

With his return to Limburg eliciting so many memories, Sully remained distracted, even from Frank Armstrong's offer of something to eat.

~ ~ ~

"Sully, if anything happens, I'll need you to do me a favour," Daniel said.

"What do you mean, if anything happens?"

It was the morning after they had crossed the Rhine River. They were finishing a cold and meagre breakfast and preparing to sleep through as many daylight hours as they could.

"If I don't make it..."

"Don't!" Sully interrupted his friend.

"Yes, but..."

"We're going to make it. Together!"

"I want you to have this."

"What is it?" Sully asked, after taking the small piece of paper from Daniel's hand.

"It's Mary's Father's address in London. If you make it home and I don't..."

"Stop it, will you?"

"If Patrick has survived..."

"And if he hasn't?" Sully forcefully interjected. Frustrated by the topic, Sully turned and walked a couple of paces away from his friend.

Daniel paused for a moment, but knew what he had to say next. "If he hasn't, then... I'm asking you to raise David and Steven."

"Me! Danny, you can't be..." Sully quickly turned around and saw the seriousness in Daniel's face. In that instant, Sully understood the significance of what his friend was bestowing upon him.

"Danny, I don't know what to say."

"Tell me you'll do it."

"Of course I will. Only... I'll do it on one... no two conditions. First, for the same reason, you must take my sister's address."

"And the other?"

"The second is," Sully looked down and then back up at his friend, "we pledge to each other that whatever the outcome... what we've gone through will not be forgotten."

"My friend... that pledge was made long ago."

~ ~ ~

The next several days, for Sully, would chronicle more of a physical recovery than an emotional one. Having not seen his friend actually die, Sully dared to give greater credence to the least likely conclusion, than the most probable. Scenarios, which included Daniel regaining consciousness and swimming to safety, gave way a more tempered expectation, one where he was picked up and taken ashore. This insidious sequence was, with the lack of anything being permitted to supplant it, continued as Sully and Frank languished in almost total darkness. Only thin slits of daylight penetrated their walls.

Sully only reticently accepted Frank's offers of aid. It arrived in the form of food, drink and clean clothing. Long ago the solitary guards had been coerced into looking the other way, allowing a solitary prisoner's inadequate provisions to be supplemented. They were easily bribed with food.

Words of encouragement were what Sully needed most, though, and they were thoughtfully offered whenever the occasion permitted. Conversations were more one-sided than an equal banter, but Frank persisted with his goal; that of tempering Sully's mournful preoccupation. It eventually helped Sully come to terms with what he was so reluctant to acknowledge... that his best friend had most likely died. It was only after a full five days of solitary that he finally began to accept a version of events including this end.

As he recovered both physically and mentally, this realization unfortunately arrived in the form of unwanted visions; visions that saw Daniel sink below the surface and disappear into the blackness below. His long-time friend, he reluctantly admitted to himself, was gone forever. Then without fully realizing it, the depth to which Sully had finally dragged himself was also the position from which he would soon begin his recovery.

During the following days, Sully's state of mind ebbed and flowed. While improving his nutritional intake, thanks in no small measure to the clandestine efforts of Hobber and Shaw, Sully and Frank explored the minutia of a wide range of discussions. Topics, which would appeal to only the wisest of listeners, those whom had lost their hearing long ago, were put under the microscope of varying lenses and then only after that were they further crushed into insignificance by gravity's vice, the one that influences time itself.

Time was, after all, the most significant adversary they had so far experienced in the war. Sometimes it felt as though it had laid siege to their cells. While exploiting the English language for everything it could yield to the unscholarly mind, Sully and Frank carved from raw pieces of wood the implements required to play chess. It was both a clever distraction and a laborious pursuit. Their single-mindedness, Sully reflected, was truly worthy of the noble game.

Supplying the ready to play Rooks and Knights via the usual circuitous route would, of course, have been an insult to humankind's most valuable resource. For in the carving, Frank and Sully discovered the distraction that defied the very fabric of time. With every nudge of the knife the continuum of eternity was blurred. With the intuition of infinity's jeweller, the hands of the clock were made irrelevant. In the minds' of Frank and Sully, they eventually became invisible.

Although their pieces were a work in progress, Frank and Sully threw themselves into their game of chess. Soon after their supplemented rations arrived, the removable wallboard between was laid flat between them. A tiny candle was set up to burn beside their board. The pair would immerse themselves for hours, and more often than not, the unfolding contest would leave them unaware of what was going on outside their cell, let alone their camp. The world outside of Limburg seemed such a far off place now. But if either chess player knew what was taking place on the Western Front, the level of success the Allies were achieving, that news would have been a welcomed distraction. Truly, their spirits would be buoyed beyond anything they had felt in years.

As Sully moved his Rook forward and Frank countered with a capturing Bishop, on the battlefield Generals Foch and Haig moved armies like Queens and battalions like Knights. Allied soldiers ordered to advance did so not as mere Pawns, but like courageous men all too willing to create a destiny for themselves.

By this time in the war, 'The Grand Offensive,' as some called it, was not only underway it was poised to achieve the unachievable. Furthering the successes of the Hundred Days Offensive, in the last days of September, Allied armies began their assault on what they hoped would be their last obstacle to victory, The Hindenburg Line. Despite heavy losses, the Allies leveraged the German's greatest adversary, their own declining morale. "Had it been defended by the Germans of two years ago, it certainly would have been impregnable," General Rawlinson was quoted as saying.

By October 8th, the once impregnable German defence system had been fully breached. Incredibly, the long awaited breakthrough had been achieved. For the Allies, moreover the world at large, this meant only one thing...the end was in sight. Though the war would go on, one of the most important outcomes of this historic accomplishment included the German's acceptance that the war had to be ended. If Sully realized the extent to which he should be optimistic his thoughts would surely turn from the present to the future, from his own predicament to that of the next generation and the two to which he now felt obliged.

~ ~ ~

"Take it back!" Steve shouted. "Take it back, I tell you."

"I don't have to," Master Moran snarled. "My father is coming to get me. I have proof of it right here."

David Moran held on tightly to the letter from his father. He hoisted it high as if he had one first place in the contest of life.

"Take back what you said about my father," Steve demanded. As if to defend his family's honour, he readied himself with the stance his father taught him, that of a boxer.

The boys had just left Mass at St. Joseph's and were milling about, as usual, outside the church. What punctuated this morning, though, was the fact that David Moran had just received word from his father. He would be returning home from the war. Though everyone was at first surprised, every boy present couldn't help coveting the outcome. Soon, David would be going home.

"Alright... alright, that'll be enough of that," Father Murtaugh hollered. "What's this all about?" he added, wading into the skirmish.

"My father is coming to get me and he's jealous," the Moran boy jousted.

"I'm not jealous."

"Then what seems to be the problem?"

"He said my father will be the last to come for us."

"Yeah!" the other Dave interjected, in support of his older brother.

"Is this true, Mr. Moran?" Father asked. After removing the pipe from his mouth, Father Murtaugh glared at the boy over his glasses.

"Well, he won't be the first," Moran proclaimed. He seemed ready to take the podium once again.

"This is not a competition young man. Look here, I'm sure everyone here is happy for you... aren't we Steve?"

"Yes, of course, Father. But why does he have to say my father will be the last?"

"I agree with Master Steven on this one, David. And further to that, young man, if I could make a suggestion, perhaps it would be best not to tempt the Lord."

"I don't understand, Father. What has God to do with my going home?"

"Well, a lot, David. And let me remind you," Father stated, using his pipe accentuate his point, "the Lord said: But many that are first shall be last; and the last shall be first."

"Does that ring a bell?" Steve blurted. "Because if it doesn't..."

"Now, now, Steven," Father said, before inserting himself between the two boys. "Alright, that's enough. I want two lines for the schoolhouse. Mr. Moran I want you at the front and Steven I'll place you at the back. And let me say, I don't want any further disturbances."

The short trip was accomplished without incident, and Father Murtaugh wanted to get on with teaching his class of religious studies. The boys filed into the limestone edifice attached to their dormitory.

"Please be seated, will you," Father announced, while standing in the doorway. He then tapped his pipe on the outside stonewall before entering the one room schoolhouse.

"Alright, class. Let's get straight to it, shall we? This morning we will continue the theme of our last class by focusing on the different parts of the Catholic religious service. As you may know," he stated, while turning to his chalkboard, "there are five main parts which make up the Mass."

While writing, he read aloud:

1. Introductory Rites

with greeting and Opening Prayer

"Oh, what I would say if they let me give the opening greeting," a whisper came from the back.

"I heard that Mr. Slatter," the Reverend stated. Despite hearing the boys' laughter, Father continued writing:

2. Liturgy of the word

1st and 2nd Readings

Gospel and Sermon

3. Liturgy of the Eucharist

Consecration

4. Communion Rite

5. Conclusion

"Now I know everyone is very familiar with all of these aspects of the Mass," Father said, rather sarcastically, "but, does anyone have a favourite part?"

He turned around from the blackboard and scanned the room's blank faces.

"Surely someone prefers a certain part over another?"

Relieving the Reverend of any further prodding, a brief pause was followed by a brave hand.

"Yes, Mr. Christie, what part of the Mass do you like?"

"The conclusion," he said with a smile.

The class instantly erupted into laughter. "Alright, alright... I suppose I walked headlong into that one. Thank you, Master Christie, for your contribution."

With the class still rumbling with amusement, Father Murtaugh smiled before continuing. "Can anyone outdo our good friend... anyone?"

After silence reigned again, he added a twist before giving up completely.

"No? How about... does anyone have any interesting stories with regards to a particular part of the Mass? What about something amusing, does anyone have any funny memories?"

Again, Father Murtaugh found himself working an unresponsive crowd.

"What about you, Father?" Jimmy suggested. "You always tell the best stories."

A round of encouragement followed Jimmy's stroke of brilliance.

"Well," Father said, before sitting on the edge of his desk, "if it must come to that, I'll tell you what I'll do. If someone is willing to admit to having a favourite aspect of the service, then I will relate a story about the very same part. How's that, does that seem fair?"

Father Murtaugh looked out over a class of nodding heads and, in moments, a hand grew out of them.

"Mr. Moraghan, have you got something to add to the discussion?"

"Well," he began, quietly, "when I'm the altar boy I always enjoy lighting the candles."

"Why's that Terry?"

"It's because he likes playing with fire," blurted one of the other boys.

Father laughed along with the class before inquiring, "Is that right, Terry?"

The young boy shook his head with embarrassment.

"No, of course not," Father continued, with a hint of introspection. "Do I have a story I can tell you about lighting the candles?"

"Oh, yes," he chuckled, "I was a lad of about your age when I too was an altar boy," he said, smiling at Terry. "This would have been the Parish of St. John the Apostle back in Limerick. Yes, as I remember this particular Sunday, it was a Mass of some sort of significance...."

With Father Murtaugh taking the time to relate not one but two of his own experiences, the class laughed as he seamlessly intermingled his stories with not only humour but also the relevant aspects of his intended lesson.

The first was a tale of how, during the process of lighting the pre-Mass candles, a young Father Murtaugh brought the congregation to an anxious precipice, one fearing a church inferno. And the second, even he would admit, was stranger still. With both demonstrative gestures and captivating language, he related a fantastic story where by a stunned church audience gasped as, believe it or not, he... not the Priest, drank a full chalice of wine.

As the Reverend's stories unfolded, the boys were again the beneficiaries of a lesson whose message could be found both within his words and between the lines. If they had learned anything today it was that Father Murtaugh was not a product of a perfect mold cast by God, instead, they discovered, he was as human, then, as they are now.

"Alright, boys," Father Murtaugh stated, "let's try to get this class back on track, shall we?"

"Ahh, come on, Father!" one of the boys complained. "One more!" another hollered.

"No, no," he retorted. "We still have some business to take care of. Now, ahem... we've lost a bit of time here so... let me see," he said quietly, while reviewing a few of his notes.

"So far," he stated, "we've covered the First and Second Readings and the Gospel so, let's see, next class we will go over finer points of a good old fashioned Sunday Sermon, how's that?"

Not surprisingly, murmurs of apathetic 'hoorays,' underscored the boys' sentiment.

"Oh!" he almost shouted, "that reminds me."

Father Murtaugh stood up before the class and clasped his hands together with enthusiasm.

"I've got a special announcement to make.'

"What is it?" Dave asked.

"A contest," the Reverend proudly stated.

The room echoed with excitement. "A contest?"

"Yes, a contest," he repeated.

"First things first, Father," Jimmy shouted.

"Of course, Master Reynolds."

"What's the prize?" he boldly asked.

"Yes, the prize!" the boys chuckled.

"I'll come to that Jimmy," Father said over the laughter, "but before I do, let me just say that you are all going to discover what it is like for a Parish Priest to come up with an interesting sermon for a Sunday Mass."

Father Murtaugh was so enthused by his announcement that he didn't hear the groans coming from the class.

"A sermon?" more than one boy complained.

"Yes, in fact, my young friends, you'll be happy to know the winner will be presenting his submission two weeks from this Sunday. Now," he continued, "don't despair. As I said, during our next class we will be going over the finer points of a good old-fashioned Irish sermon. After all, I think everyone would agree I know a thing or two about captivating a congregation."

For a moment, Father Murtaugh was taken aback by the silent stares that contradicted him.

"You haven't mentioned the prize," a dispassionate voice came from the less than enthusiastic crowd.

"Oh, yes, the prize... that would have to be," he said, consulting his notes, "a hug from Mother Superior... no, no... that went to last year's winner."

"Ahh, come on, Father."

"No, I'm sorry, lads, this year's prize," he stated, while raising the tone of his voice, "will be two tickets to a football match in Stroud!"

"A football match," Dave yelled, jumping to his feet. Following Dave's cue, the rest of the room erupted after the fuel of their enthusiasm was re-ignited.

Father made an effort to continue. "Now we've only a few minutes left so I'll just add a few thoughts."

Dave looked at Steve with the desire to win ingrained in his eyes.

"You'll of course be allowed to use and quote the Bible in your sermons. I will also provide you with two or three real life examples... a few of my best, you can be sure."

In turn, Steve looked at Dave with an idea taking shape in his mind.

~

Steve and Dave at Nympsfield. Steve is sitting in the front row, holding the football. Dave is on Steve's right.

~

"And... well, if there's anything else you can think of... if anyone remembers something you learned before joining us here... you may certainly use that."

"What about letters, Father?" Steve asked.

"You mean, from your parents?"

"Yes, my father."

"That would be fine, Steve."

As Steve turned to Dave with a look of optimism, a quiet knock at the door to the classroom went almost unnoticed. Amidst the boys' ongoing chatter, Patrick, the boy closest to it, got up from his seat and looked at Father Murtaugh for permission to see who it was. With it given, Patrick gladly took the several steps required to open the door.

"I'm here to see Father Murtaugh," a youthful voice came from the hall.

Patrick stared for a moment before slowly opening the door further.

"Yes, dear, what can we do for you?" the Reverend asked.

The young girl took two pensive steps forward, daring only one, though, beyond the door's threshold.

"Father Murtaugh... Mother Superior," she began, before stopping mid-sentence.

After the room fell silent, the brown-haired girl slowly turned her head and looked at the class. As a result of the boys and girls being segregated, the young lady couldn't help feeling the weight of the boys' gaze upon her.

"Please continue," Father suggested.

While staring at the boys, she slowly repeated, "Mother Superior requests your presence at the Convent."

"Then please tell her that I'll be there straight away."

After she and the boys proved they were equally enamoured, the Reverend managed to break the young girl's trance-like appearance.

"Was there anything else?"

"No, Father," she said, before turning to leave the room.

After making the walk from the Convent, Sister Claudia arrived soon after to relieve Father Murtaugh. As a rule, segregation was strictly practised by the Marist Sisters in Nympsfield. While the boys lived and learned their lessons at Marist House and the girls resided with the Nuns at the Convent proper, Steve and Dave often reflected on how liberties were granted more freely to the former than the latter.

As they consulted further on their sermon ideas, their thoughts returned over and over again to what their father had taught them.

"It's in the letters, Dave, I just know it," Steve suggested. They looked at each other enthusiastically. Though they believed the answer to creating a winning sermon would be found in their father's written words, one outstanding question remained: were there any future lessons yet to be learned from him?

~ ~ ~

"May I join you, Daniel?"

"Of course, Claude, please do."

"I would agree, one mustn't waste these last few warm days."

Daniel smiled at his new friend. Claude sat down in the second of three chairs that overlooked the yard and the Meuse River. A light breeze was just enough to put the medium length grass into motion.

"What are you writing?" Claude asked, after placing a thin newspaper in his lap.

"It's just a poem," Daniel answered, rather nonchalantly. "In the camp, we had many diversions. The Writer's Club was a quiet respite from what I called... the drone of humanity. My friend, Sully, always teased me about whose company was more boring... the readers' or the writers'."

"I very much appreciate the company of both," Claude suggested.

Despite Claude's admission, Daniel's smile seemed uncomfortable, as if something was bothering him. Suddenly a resurging memory of Sully was compounded by the ambiguity of his prospects.

After indulging his intuition, Claude assumed a role that was as natural to him as it was instinctive for Daniel to bequeath. Like a father would sit and converse with his own son, Claude sensed Daniel was troubled.

"It must have been difficult to be imprisoned for so long."

"Do you know what it's like to...?"

"To feel utterly powerless?" Claude quietly interjected. He turned and looked at Daniel. "I do, my son."

With those empathetic words instantly relieving a significant measure of his anguish, Daniel looked up at Claude. "Of course you do," he sighed. "I should apologize."

"For what, my friend?" Claude interjected. "We've all been through a great ordeal. If I were permitted to speak freely, I assure you that this terrible experience will not define you forever."

Daniel only stared at Claude.

"One day you will see," Claude said, after patting Daniel's arm.

Daniel reflected on how nice it was to talk with a father-like figure. "I hope you don't think poorly of me for saying this but... I can't help feeling a sense of envy for your son-in-law."

Claude was momentarily taken aback. He stared back at Daniel. Then, as if with impeccable timing, relief from a moment of awkwardness arrived in the form of a distraction originating from the rear of the house.

"Papa," Jeanette called, "can I get you and Daniel something?"

After Jeanette walked towards them, Daniel immediately stood up.

"A cup of tea, perhaps?" she asked.

"Tea would be nice." Daniel answered.

"You two may have your tea, if you like. But I think I would prefer something a little stronger."

Claude looked up at Daniel, "I managed to hide a few bottles of Peket from those thieving Bosch. I am saving one for the end of the war. Would you mind, my dear?"

"Of course not, Papa, give me a moment... I know where to find it."

Claude turned back toward Daniel and held up the paper in his hand. "Le franc-tireur is saying the Germans can't hold out much longer."

"Your paper looks well-travelled," Daniel suggested, after sitting back down.

"If they only knew how a thousand copies can reach the eyes of ten thousand readers."

Claude looked out over his yard and down towards the river. In a cherished moment of tranquility, he peered optimistically into the future.

"We must have faith, they say." He tapped his paper, "it's all right here."

As Claude continued to relate stories from his illegal newsprint, a sense of optimism caused Daniel's attention to be diverted. Thoughts of Steven and David living out their days at an orphanage became nurtured by a sense of hope, an expectation that his boys would live out their days better than he did. They'll manage until I get there, he tried to convince himself... after all, the Cotswold Hills is in the countryside. But if Daniel thought the where was important, in so far as geography goes... he knew the when was much more concerning. If Claude were correct, and the end were truly in sight, would it be necessary to report for further duty after he and the boys were reunited?

While Daniel's concentration was shared between the plight of his sons and Claude's continuing narration, many of his concerns would have been assuaged had he known whose hands his sons were in. He thought, for a moment, that they may be sitting under the same sunny sky, as he and Claude. He wondered if they were talking among themselves, working on their studies, or better yet, playing some boyish game in order that time pass unnoticed.

~ ~ ~

"Are you making any notes?" Steve asked.

Dave couldn't help being distracted. They both sat on the edge of the small landing in front of the schoolhouse. With a small pile of letters at his side, Dave tilted himself away from Steve so he wouldn't notice him scrutinizing the size and colour of his marble collection.

"Dave," he chided.

The jolt startled him. "What?" Dave shouted. A few of his marbles fell from his fingers and rolled out where Steve could see.

Steve shook his head. "You're to be looking through the letters I gave you."

But, before Dave could venture a reply, they were both surprised by the appearance of Sister Claudia. "Oh, hello boys," she politely inquired. She stepped through them, but stopped after opening the schoolhouse's front door. "Are you working on your sermon?"

"We are Sister."

"How's it coming along? Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Thank you, Sister," Steve replied, raising the paper in his hand, "we were just going over some of our father's letters."

Sister Claudia smiled and winked. "Ah... I bet there's the better part of a winner in there."

"We're hoping so, Sister," Dave replied.

~ ~ ~

Under the same warm sun, Jeanette arrived with some refreshments.

"I think we should try to imagine happier times," she suggested, while passing a chaser type glass to both Daniel and her father.

"Indeed," Daniel agreed, after standing to greet Jeanette.

"I'll bring the tea out in a moment. In the meantime, would you do us the honour, Papa, of proposing a toast?"

"I would be happy to," Claude replied, "but, I think it would be remiss of me not to offer that privilege to our guest."

"To me," Daniel responded, "well I suppose I could give it a try." Daniel paused for a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Alright," he stated, before clearing his throat: "May God grant us the wisdom to recognize what is truly important in life... the fortitude to act accordingly... and the humility to never miss an opportunity to say what should be said."

Jeanette smiled. "Very well done."

"A la tienne!" Claude suggested, in his native Walloon.

"Si da, a la tienne," "Yes, here's to you," Jeanette added in kind.

After downing their drink, Daniel offered his seat to Jeanette. She complied with a simple nod and a smile, sitting down between Daniel and her father. Jeanette sipped her Peket decidedly slower.

"Yes, the fog of regret," Claude reflected, "isn't it filled with, how should I say... the vapour of missed opportunities." Claude used his hands as if to demonstrate the evaporation of a moment lost forever.

Jeanette looked at her father. "Then the present, Papa, is where we should live our lives."

"As difficult as it may sometimes be," her father agreed.

Daniel placed his glass on the small table in front of them. "I'm sorry to say, I've lost track of my missed opportunities. But it's not for the lack of wanting to make up for them."

"Well, then, if your boys were with you now, sitting here before you," Claude asked, "what would you say to them?"

"Oh, Papa," Jeanette interjected, fearing her father's question was too direct.

"No, it's alright," Daniel answered, somewhat awkwardly. "I've told them often, the future is what we make of it." Daniel paused again in order to collect his thoughts.

"First, I would let them know how much they are loved, and that their mother and I will never stop loving them. I would reassure them their mother's spirit lives on... that her light has been joined with God's... and that His Kingdom will reside within us forever."

It was obvious that Daniel's comments struck a chord with Jeanette. "That's a pleasant way of looking at it," she suggested. "I mean, that our loved ones live on within us."

"In God's Kingdom, you say?" Claude inquired. "And you learned that from the Brothers of Mercy?"

"From Father Benoit."

"A priest, no less," Claude gasped. "Was he ever chastised for leading the flock... a little off the beaten path?"

"As a matter of fact," Daniel chuckled, "I do remember seeing him in the Head Master's office more than once." Suddenly, a memory of Father Benoit turning to smile at him in the hallway instantly broadened Daniel's smile. "I suppose his perspective was a little unconventional."

"A little unconventional?" Claude interjected.

"To be perfectly honest with you, the older I get... the more I see of this world, the more I appreciate what he taught us."

"What else did he teach you?" Jeanette asked.

"That our God is not a vengeful God."

"And this is what you are teaching your sons?" Claude asked.

"In letter form, now, more than anything else."

~ ~ ~

"Here's one, Steve," Dave suggested. With a folded letter open in front of him, he recited a few of his father's words.

"He says, 'try to think of God's Kingdom as a light that exists within us all.'"

"Did you get that?"

"You can see I'm writing, can't you... 'a light that exists within us all'... anything else?"

~ ~ ~

Claude continued: "You're not trying to suggest that we don't have to pay for our sins?" he asked.

"Not at all," Daniel suggested.

~ ~ ~

"Is there anything else?" Dave repeated.

Steve continued. "He also says: 'we should think of every sin, large or small, as a stone that we place in a wall... a wall that surrounds God's light. And that if we're not mindful, it is possible to cut off not only ourselves, but everyone around us from that light.'"

~ ~ ~

"Then what do you say to the martyrs of Heure le Romain?" Claude begged "Twenty-eight civilians shot for no reason. Eighty-three houses burned."

"Papa, that's not fair. You're making it too personal. I think we should talk about something else."

Daniel felt responsible for the tone of their conversation. "I'm sorry, both of you. I didn't mean to..."

"No, my friend," Claude interjected, "it is I that should apologize. I am interested in what you have to say. You wouldn't know this, but before the war discussions of a vibrant nature were part of our everyday life here. My dear wife Germaine was in every way my equal. Manfred was a good debater as well, wasn't he?" Claude added, looking at his daughter. Jeanette nodded and returned his smile.

"I am truly sorry, Jeanette, for what happened to your husband," Daniel offered. "Those first few days of the war must have been unimaginable."

"The worst of our lives," Claude admitted. "I'm sorry, Jeanette, for speaking for you."

"It's alright, Papa."

"Just please tell me, my friend," Claude pleaded, while looking at Daniel, "that your God will make them pay for what they did?"

~ ~ ~

"Here, Dave," Steve stated, "read this part here while I write."

"But Dad wrote this is one to Mom."

"I know but, I don't think they would mind."

Dave still seemed hesitant. "If you'd rather, just start reading here," Steve suggested, pointing to the appropriate paragraph. Dave began to read again:

"Today I saw a German belt buckle that said, 'God Mit Unse' or 'God Is With Us.' I don't know who is more deluded, they or us? The only thing I am sure of is the longer this war goes on the more I realise God is on neither side. Yes, we all have much to answer for, but if God is Love then how can God be my judge? I think when the time comes for the scroll of my indiscretions to be unfurled in front of me it will not be the handwriting of St. Peter or even God, for that matter. It will be my own! Yes, Mary, I have come to accept it is I that judge the value of love, the value of God in my life, not the other way around."

~ ~ ~

"I think you can set your mind at ease, Papa," Jeanette said solemnly, "I'm sure they've already paid for their actions."

"Yes, I'm sure you are right. But, I would like to know when will we stop paying for what they did?" Claude asked.

"That, my friend," Daniel answered, "is up to you."

"Up to me?" Claude asked, incredulously.

~ ~ ~

"And here," Steve suggested. He passed another letter to Dave and pointed to a small paragraph. As his brother began to read the passage aloud, Steve's thoughts drifted back to a better time. To this day, he still remembered his mother saying the exact same words.

"The hardening of one's heart," she read aloud, "or should I say the withholding of forgiveness, will always remain the largest obstacle between you and God. Boys, the wall we build around God can be dismantled. It is through seeking or granting forgiveness that we rediscover Him."

"What does 'obstacle' mean, Mommy?" a much younger David asked.

"Well... do you remember your father mentioning how our sins are like little stones we place in the wall between us and God?"

"Between us and His light?" Steve asked.

"Yes, well an obstacle is something far bigger... much larger than a stone. It's something you would need help removing."

~ ~ ~

Claude reflected on the notion of forgiveness being instrumental to freeing himself from the past. "I think I would have an easier time prying the stone from Jesus's tomb than to move that one out of the way,"' Claude stated.

"Then we will work on that one together, won't we Papa?" Jeanette suggested. She looked at her father with emotional eyes.

"I think that's what Jesus meant when He said: 'the meek shall inherit the earth.'"

Both Claude and Jeanette looked at Daniel. Their eyes beckoned a comforting thought.

"It may take ten-thousand years, but I know someday humankind will value love more than conflict."

In the time it took for Claude and Jeanette to concur, an alarming shout came from the back door to the house. Daniel quickly turned around. It was Juliette and she was frantic.

"Maman, Bon-Papa," she cried. "Someone is coming!"

Daniel immediately got up. Claude and Jeanette quickly did the same.

But just as Jeanette recognised the look of anguish on her daughter, Julliette left the three of them hanging. She promptly disappeared into the house. Upon arriving at the front window, she cautiously peered up their long laneway.

"Non di jo!" She blurted.

Having taken only several steps toward the house, Daniel suddenly stopped. Julliette returned to the backdoor, and she was breathing heavily.

"It's the Captain," she gasped, while pointing to the front of the house.

The shock of disbelief possessed them equally.

"Hide, Juli! Hide!" Jeanette shouted. The instinct to protect her daughter instantly rose within her.

"Don't answer the door!" Claude yelled. "Whatever you do, don't answer the door!" He turned to Daniel. A look of understanding came over their faces. There was not a minute to spare as the sound of hooves suddenly became silent.

"There are two horses," Claude stated.

"They've stopped in front of the house," Daniel added.

After Juliette disappeared beyond the door's threshold, Jeanette glared at Daniel. There wasn't a second to think, let alone speak.

"You should..." Jeanette began to say, before Daniel interrupted her.

"I've placed your family in danger long enough."

"No," Jeanette pleaded.

"I will never forget you," was all Daniel could say before turning to run for the adjacent woods.

Suddenly, the sound of horse hooves again defined their anxiety. Were they going away?

"Wait here," The Captain ordered his companion.

Claude and Jeanette stood motionless, close to their chairs. While Jeanette's eyes followed Daniel, Claude turned toward the house. In only moments, he felt his heart sink. It was Captain von Boetticher on horseback, and he was rounding the house.

"Jeanette," Claude said with a muffled voice.

Strangely, his daughter stood as if she didn't hear him. Her eyes followed Daniel into the woods.

"Jeanette!" he harshly whispered again.

The Captain drew nearer, yet Jeanette's only concern seemed to be Daniel's safety. Amongst the larger trees, Daniel stopped and turned. He stood silently, looking back at Jeanette.

"Herr Swolfs," the Captain said loudly. "For a moment I thought I wouldn't find you at home."

Claude looked up at the young German and asked, "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, today, Herr Captain?"

After coming to a stop in front of them, the Captain couldn't help noticing that Jeanette seemed distracted.

As Daniel stood next to one of the trees, she exchanged a longing glance, one that begged for a missed opportunity to be replayed. If they could only repeat it, words would be spoken... a proper goodbye would frame a fitting memory. Tears began to fill her eyes.

While the Captain dismounted, he couldn't help noticing the three glasses on the small table. His concealing exterior began to unfurl. His suspicious nature was exposed.

"I was hoping today's visit would be of a social nature but..." he stopped mid-sentence. His methodical nature seemed too hard to suppress. He also noticed the small piece of paper under one of the glasses. With his curiosity now peaked, he walked toward Jeanette.

"What are you looking at, Frau Hagmann?"

The Captain stood close by her side. Jeanette relented, and looked down. A maniacal preoccupation with the unfolding scene possessed the Captain. And thus, he was strangely possessed by her. He watched as a tear slipped from her eye and slowly rolled down her face.

Claude looked on incredulously. He worried that his daughter's composure would be undone by the intimidating Captain. But it wasn't. She looked up, and after setting her eyes on Daniel for one final time, she took a deep breathe.

By the time the Captain turned his head to see what she was looking at, Daniel had vanished.

"If it is my daughter you are looking for," Jeanette said sternly, "she is not home."

The Captain's head jerked back. Startled, his face soon resembled a portrait of defeat.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

### Almost home

Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark

bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home.

Lord Byron

It was a part of the night Daniel was now familiar with, that lonely threshold where the sunrise is longed for as if its last appearance were a distant memory. Though Daniel felt indebted to Claude for his thorough instructions, for the moment he couldn't help thinking of Jeanette's last words. 'Follow the river,' she mouthed, as he gazed back from the thick forest. With the heaviest of hearts, Daniel could only nod before slipping deeper into the woods.

He lay still, now, in the cold and damp grass. A proud forest towered over him. In the bleakness, the creaking pines spoke to him and, in turn, his visible breath to them. Though, nature's calming influence had, like the dew, already descended upon him, without Sully, he felt alone, so small beneath them.

If it were not for a line on a map it wouldn't have mattered where he was. Moreover, if it were truly all God's Country, as every soldier boasted of his own, then why was the human race so anxious to divide it, so eager to both include and exclude its members at the same time. Though Frank and Sully had tenaciously pursued an answer to that very question, all that mattered to Daniel was: had he finally made it? Had he crossed the last barrier to neutral territory?

~ ~ ~

"If you had turned northward sooner than you did," Claude stated, only days before, "you could have avoided dealing with the fence."

"The fence?" Daniel asked.

"Yes, the electrified fence."

Daniel appeared horrified by Claude's revelation. "We heard rumours but..."

"I suppose the Bosch decided there were too many of us fleeing into Holland at the outset of the war. It runs the full length of the boarder. I'm afraid you'll have to cross it to get into Holland."

"Where... how will I get over it?"

"Well, having seen the monstrosity myself, let me first say it is a formidable obstacle and one not without risk. Many have died in their attempt to achieve freedom."

"But, have any made it?"

"Oh yes, many have. Some have laid wooden ladders over the fence... others have stepped through window frames after using them to separate the wires, but for you, Daniel, I would consider going under, not over."

"Under?"

"I know the Meuse will be frigid at this time of year but..."

"Not another cold swim," Daniel lamented.

~ ~ ~

Looking up from the woods, Daniel could see a structure in the distance. It was silhouetted against the brightening sky. The sun was dawning in and around the house-like building. It penetrated his eyes and peered into his soul, trying to awake feelings of encouragement. The desire to surrender the experience to optimism was kept in check only by the instinct to be cautious.

While awaiting the dawn, Daniel looked down the road and wondered if the emerging light would eclipse the forces of darkness. He hoped Claude was right, that the end of the war was truly near. For the moment, though, the ambiguities afforded to an escaped prisoner would go unresolved. After spending the night both walking and swimming, exhaustion finally gave way to sleep. And when it came, it arrived almost imperceptibly, in the same way the night yields to a new day.

Soon after, Daniel awoke to uncontrollable shivers. His soggy clothes clung to him as if selfishly trying to absorb what internal heat remained. Like the rest of his body, his heart seemed tired... tired of pumping its cold thick blood to far off regions. As his mind, in turn, attempted to assemble the visual pieces of the unfolding morning, Daniel's concern was diverted to his unresponsive legs. They were, he found, as solid as the wooden limbs above him, his pants as crusty as the bark that encased them.

After turning over, Daniel cast his eyes side to side, while his half-frozen hands massaged first his pants and legs. The farmhouse, which had hitherto punctuated a curious landscape, was now enlivened by the sun. With its unusual appeal set against four years of monotone memories, it seemed so unaffected by war. Its grounds bore the distinctive mark of the gardener's hand. Daniel's heart beat strongly again, not for his arms or legs, this time it dared to awaken his spirit.

He stood up and walked several paces. Finding a gravel road under his feet, his legs ushered in a resurgence of blood. A light breeze buffeted his hair. To a follicle, his body felt reinvigorated. After walking further, he couldn't help but observe the essence of the first dwelling being repeated in those that followed. Then, without at first noticing, an elderly women tending to her laundry looked up at him. Her glance stopped Daniel in the middle of the road. His feet suddenly became anxious. But without breaking the rhythm of her chore, surprisingly, she smiled and waved. Awkwardly, Daniel did nothing. As if disarmed by her calm appearance, he only stood and stared. A second time, she casually waved. This time, though, she did so as if she were directing him up the road, toward the small village. Again, Daniel's heart was warmed by her pleasant demeanour, her smile. While subtly returning her gesture, Daniel couldn't help feeling she had mistaken him for someone else, a neighbour, perhaps. The insidious grip of captivity would not be loosened so easily.

A little further on, his attention was again diverted from the road. Off in the distance a farmer was consumed by a duty to what the remnants of the season required. By any standard, it was a sight pleasing to the eye. Daniel could feel himself becoming captivated by the scene. It called out to his very soul. As if with his consent, his spirit began to drift over the waving grasses. Rolling with it, they weaved their way together through and around the firs. Then, feeling the acquiescence of his better judgement, he refocused his thoughts on the movement of his calloused feet. Somehow they had become unburdened. They were soothed by the thought of them treading over neutral soil.

Another cottage came into view. Daniel remained distracted, though, even from the distant sound of approaching hooves. He thought of how much Mary would like to live there, in that very house. Then, as if out of place, the sound of a voice broke the blissful scene. It was trying to get his attention.

"Look, Daniel... Look!" she repeated.

Startled by her plea, Daniel stopped and looked up the road.

'Horsemen!' echoed loudly in his mind.

With the bright sun rising behind them, two cavalrymen were trotting toward him, some fifty paces up the road.

The sight of the familiar field grey uniform, stiffened his legs. But with a surge of adrenaline they were emboldened to continue their quest for freedom. Daniel's mind exploded with his unfolding reality and a perception thereof. Were his eyes deceiving him? Were they wearing the flat caps of the Uhlan... the dreaded German Cavalry of which Claude spoke so vividly... so harshly?

In the time it took for his fears to menace him, Daniel's eyes became horrified.

Without warning, the two cavalrymen began to charge.

Faster and faster the evil hooves galloped toward him.

There was no time think, and even less to move.

As their lances descended, he felt himself become their target.

Then as if to protect the memory of his boys, he raised his left hand to shield himself. The Uhlans bore down, overtaking his senses. In a moment of fleeting weakness he resolved his fate to their pennants... yes... having offered no quarter, their lances were thrust right through him.

As the cavalrymen galloped by him, one to each side, the memory of Steven and David somehow remained alive. As alive, incredibly... as Daniel himself!

He opened his eyes. With his arm still raised, he tried look beyond the glare of the sun. After squinting more than once, he could see the horsemen more clearly now. They were not wearing the square-topped helmet of the Uhlan. Theirs was a long peaked cap, one very much similar to that of an ally, the French.

The trotting horsemen eased their mounts to a stop in front of him.

"You are English?" the one on the left asked. His accent seemed decidedly non-German.

"Yes," Daniel recovered. "British Army."

Daniel stared at both of them while an irrepressible feeling began to take hold.

"You have come far, then?" the Sergeant inquired, before dismounting.

"From Limburg."

"Ah... Limburg an der Lahn," he concurred. While taking a couple of steps toward Daniel, he loosely held the reins of his horse. "Did their hospitality not suit you any longer?"

Daniel chuckled briefly. His disposition spanned an awkward threshold. "I was told it is much better in Holland."

"Well then, you will be happy to know we are soldiers of the Dutch Border Patrol."

A feeling of relief quickly gave itself over to a surge of emotion. Daniel tilted his head down and to the left. It seemed no coincidence his eyes caught a glimpse of the elderly woman smiling at him. Somehow she seemed to embody everything good about life. He wondered if he would ever again be blessed with such contentment. When she waved again, Daniel responded in kind. This time her simple gesture caused the value of freedom to soar within his heart.

"You are safe now, my friend," the Sergeant declared. Looking over Daniel's shoulder, he too, nodded and waved at the elderly woman's welcoming demeanour.

"What is your name?" he asked.

After turning back toward the Sergeant, pride filled his voice. "My name is Daniel Donoghue of the Royal Munster Fusiliers."

"Well then, Daniel, it gives me great pleasure to tell you, your ordeal is finally over."

"From this moment on, you are a free man," the other mounted guard offered.

A feeling of exhaustion descended upon Daniel. With tears welling up in his eyes, he looked up at the border guard. "Thank you," was all he could say.

The Sergeant put his arm on Daniel's shoulder, turning him in the direction of the small village ahead.

"First, I think we should get you in front of a comfortable fire."

"I would like that very much."

With the second horseman following, the two men exchanged pleasantries as they walked, and when Daniel shook his head in disbelief, the Sergeant reassured him with a friendly pat on the back.

After walking for a quarter of an hour, Daniel found himself on the edge of the village and in front of a small public house. While the other boarder guard dismounted, the Sergeant guided Daniel into the establishment. They were instantly the subject of attention of what few patrons were inside. The Sergeant wasted no time in settling Daniel into a chair close a heart-warming fire.

"Mr. Janssen," the Sergeant said loudly, "would you please bring our friend a glass of your best gin." He turned to Daniel. "Mr. Janssen is the proprietor. I will be leaving you in his care until another escort comes for you."

Daniel nodded as if being content with giving himself over to compliance. A small glass of gin was soon placed in front of him.

"Mr. Janssen, this is Private Donoghue of the Royal..."

"Munster Fusiliers," Daniel inserted.

"Of the Royal Munster Fusiliers, and he has been a prisoner of war since the retreat from Mons."

Several elder patrons nodded while tipping their glasses in Daniel's direction. He returned their gesture before taking a sip from his own.

"We don't see many of the old soldiers anymore," Mr. Janssen stated.

"Not at this stage in the war," the Sergeant agreed. "Will you take care of Private Donoghue until another escort comes for him?"

"Of course," the proprietor replied.

The Sergeant, who was eager to resume his patrol, turned toward Daniel to explain what would happen next.

"In a short while, someone from the Frontier Examination Station will come for you. You will undergo a medical examination there. After that, it will be necessary for you to endure a period of quarantine. You will do this at a camp near Heerlen or possibly Sittard. Now I know this may not sound very favourable at this point, but I can assure you this is standard procedure for all escaped prisoners. As far as what you can expect beyond that process or how long it will take you to get back to England, I honestly cannot say. The Officer in charge of the camp should be able to help you with any questions you may have."

Daniel nodded while putting his glass down on the small table beside him.

"Well," the Sergeant concluded, "is there anything else I can do for you?"

"You've already done enough, thank you."

"Then it has been a pleasure meeting you, Private Donoghue."

"No, Sergeant, I can assure you it has been all mine," Daniel replied while trying to get up. Unfortunately, the effects of only a few sips of Gin had already taken their toll.

"No, please don't get up. That won't be necessary."

"Thank you, once again, Mr. Janssen, for your hospitality. And to you, my friend, good luck. I hope the rest of your journey is a little easier on you."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Daniel said. "Thank you," he repeated, as the two guards turned to leave the establishment.

Later that afternoon, Daniel was placed temporarily in the charge of another Frontier Guard who, in turn, escorted him to the Examination Station. While there, the officer in charge conducted a standard interview. Name, rank, regiment, place of internment and how long in captivity were among many questions Daniel was eager to answer. Though he was still far from home, his words resonated like the narrative to his achievement, every response a testament exonerating his purpose.

The following afternoon, Daniel, once again, found himself staring at barbed gates and fences. He was standing at the entrance to the clearing station at Heerlen, in the southern-most province of Holland. Even though he would be spending only a fortnight within, as its gates opened and then closed behind him, Daniel winced as if the thorny wire were constricting itself around his still fragile spirit.

Daniel looked around the camp while running his hand over his face. It felt good to be clean-shaven again. The sensation was not as pleasing, though, when running his fingers through his nonexistent hair. With some regret, his head was left only with stubble.

"Your papers, please," the officer in charge ordered.

Daniel handed over what the Inspection Station had provided.

"Alright, Private," the Captain stated, "If you'll follow me, I will introduce you to Lieutenant Forsythe. He's the ranking English officer. There are several of your fellow countrymen here."

"Thank you, Captain," Daniel responded, while following him closely.

"While you are here, you'll be staying with them in the English barrack."

Daniel glanced to his left, as they walked. He noticed a large group of men fenced off from the rest. He couldn't help inquiring: "Are those German soldiers?"

The Captain glanced to his left. "They are deserters. Our country's been overrun by them. You don't have to worry, though, they're well segregated."

Daniel couldn't help staring as he walked. "They're a sorry looking lot."

"Yes, well, their country will not help us feed them. They may be orphans for now, but when the war is over they will have to go back to Germany."

With the word 'orphan' hitting close to home, a confusing, almost empathetic range of emotions swirled within Daniel's mind. He continued just the same, though, following the Dutch officer. While returning the stares of the dispossessed, his thoughts turned from their plight to that of his boys.

~ ~ ~

"Who's missing?" Sister Margaret asked, after pulling her lit pipe from her mouth. She grasped her pipe's bowl and gestured in the direction of the empty chair. It was noon hour Saturday, and one uneaten lunch remained.

"It's David Moran," Jimmy responded. "Would 'ya like me to go and get 'im?"

"No, boy," she ordered, after taking a puff from her pipe. "You go ahead and finish your soup."

"He's outside pacing the road," another boy volunteered.

Realising what he had said only after saying it, the boy quickly became the object of a few scowls.

"And what, may I ask, is more important than taking one's proper place at the table?"

Sister Margaret's displeasure was fuelled by the wasting of food. She cursed her old bones in some ancient dialect, one that singed the boys' ears but never penetrated their understanding. She and her cane made their way to the front door of the house, all the while puffing on her pipe. Though Sister Margaret's pipe bowl normally plumed from the comfort of her outdoor rocking chair, this afternoon the strong smell of tobacco wafted within the house.

"Mr. Moran!" she shouted from the opened door. "Mr. Moran!" she yelled again, this time with her pipe clenched between her teeth.

"Yes, Sister Margaret."

"Your soup won't be reheated," she yelled, thumping her cane.

"I'm sorry, Sister but, it's my father. I'm expecting him anytime."

"I don't care if it's King Eddie you're expecting," she shouted. "You'll be more concerned about the end of my cane if you don't get your carcass in her directly."

The boys' snickers rose to laughter after Sister Margaret disappeared through the door's threshold.

"Blast!" she roared from the front walkway.

Seizing the moment, Dave quickly dashed into the kitchen. The thought of finding an extra dessert sweetened his desire to supplement his all too modest allotment.

"Get enough for all of us," Steve hollered quietly. Jimmy and Terry anxiously looked on.

They all became concerned, though, when they heard Father Murtagh making inquiries just outside the door. Then with the timing blessed unto only a few, Dave returned to the dining room just before both Father Murtaugh followed Sister Margaret into the room.

"You're sure there's nothing I can help you with, Sister?" Father offered.

"No... he's bolted."

"Who's bolted?"

"The Moran boy."

Steve saw Father looking around the room, as if for answers. He took the opportunity to chance an explanation. "He wakes up every morning hoping this will be the day."

Father Murtaugh looked somewhat perplexed. "I wasn't aware there was any further news."

Steve and Terry just shook their heads.

"I suppose I should try to have a word with him... temper his expectations so to speak. On another matter," he said, while watching Sister Margaret re-lite her pipe, "I was going to mention that Mother Superior has been called away for the afternoon, but something tells me you already know that."

Sister Margaret puffed strongly on her pipe and blew the smoke in Father's direction. Knowing that Mother Superior was not fond of her irrepressible temperament, especially her habit of enjoying a smoke indoors, she made sure the opportunity was not lost.

"And what of Sister Claudia?" Father Murtaugh asked.

"The Fates have abandoned us," Sister Margaret replied, referring to the absent nuns.

"Is that right?" Father mused. "Then what are we to do with you boys?"

Father Murtaugh looked around the room again, hoping an idea would come to him.

"We could throw caution to the wind," Dave exclaimed.

"Yes, Master David, we could," the Reverend agreed, "but, I think that ship has already sailed." Father Murtaugh smirked at Sister Margaret.

"It has indeed, Father," Sister responded, "but, it never too late to launch a pursuit."

With her inference not lost on them, the boys lurched from their chairs. Only Father Murtaugh's approval now stood between them and their freedom.

"Oh, alright," he relented. "But be sure you're back in time for supper!"

As the boys raced by them, Sister Margaret looked perplexed.

"Have you been drinking, Father?" she asked, as the last boy screamed out of the room.

"No," he answered, "but I wouldn't deny 'twas an Irish spirit that inspired me."

"Then maybe you'd like a nip of the real thing," she said, winking at him.

"The real thing, Sister?'

"You know... the nectar of the gods?"

"Well, as you say... they have abandoned us," he agreed, while following Sister Margaret toward the kitchen.

"When the gods want to punish us..." Sister Margaret suggested.

"Or abandon us, in this case," Father added.

"They answer our prayers," they both said in unison.

~ ~ ~

"Lieutenant Forsythe," the Dutch officer announced. He and Daniel walked over to a small group of men who were sitting in chairs outside the English barrack. Daniel instantly recognised their casual demeanour and found it at odds with his own camp experience. He would soon find out there were few rules to live by here. They could shower, wash their clothes and eat whenever they wanted. The only caveat, they had to remain within the confines of the camp's fences until their quarantine period was concluded.

"Yes," the Lieutenant replied, while getting up from his chair.

"This is Private Donoghue," he stated in his native Dutch accent.

Daniel offered the English officer a proper salute. It was quickly returned.

"Welcome, Private."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Daniel nodded, as two other Englishmen stood up to add their enthusiasm.

"He's just arrived from the frontier," the Dutch officer explained.

"Congratulations," one of the enlisted men interjected, "for making it, I mean."

"Yes, of course," Forsythe agreed.

"He'll be staying with you, Lieutenant, if you don't mind."

"Glad to have you, Donoghue," Forsythe said, offering his hand. Daniel returned the gesture. At the same time, the other two men stepped forward. "I'm Ballard, and this is Williams," he said. They offered their hands in turn.

"We're a trite informal here," Williams suggested.

"Aren't we," Lieutenant Forsythe sarcastically agreed.

"Well then, if you don't mind, Lieutenant, I'll turn him over to you."

"Thank you, Kapitein," Forsythe said, before exchanging salutes.

As the Dutch officer walked away, Private Ballard pulled up another chair and offered it to Daniel. Consistent with Williams' portrayal of the circumstances, as the four men sat down, only the Lieutenant displayed any depiction of his rank. Daniel looked about, welcoming the air of relaxation. The feeling of not being held against his will was given a chance to sink in.

Private Ballard snapped open the newspaper he'd been holding and glanced between it and Daniel. "So how long have you been in the dark, old man?"

Daniel looked perplexed.

"Since you've had any sort of update on how our lads are doing?"

"Is there anything new?"

"Well, if I could encapsulate things for you, by this, the second of November, the German Navy is in utter revolt. The Kaiser is refusing to abdicate, and the Allies appear to be ready to negotiate terms for a truce."

Daniel looked surprised by the rapid turn of events.

Forsythe waded in. "A truce, yes," he pontificated, "but you wait and see, everyone will be demanding reparation payments. In the end, I think the Germans will be forced to agree to everything."

"I think we should accept nothing but surrender," Williams suggested. "There's no stopping us now."

"I say it's a matter of days, not weeks, my friend," Ballard added, looking at Daniel, "before we'll all be home."

As Daniel listened intently to the ongoing discussion, he would have been overjoyed to know Williams was correct. By now the German Army had been reduced to fighting rear-guard actions. They were also abandoning large amounts of equipment while retreating through territory they had won in the first weeks of the war. Daniel's spirits would have been further buoyed by the knowledge that his own regiment, the Royal Munster Fusiliers, had passed within a dozen or so kilometres of Etreux, as they advanced against both a demoralized German Army and a desperate nation.

Compounding the terrible state of affairs, the German Navy had suffered a crippling mutiny. In protest of an order to sail against the English Navy in a senseless final battle, a 'sailors' revolt' would sow the seeds of revolution, exacerbating the instability which the nation already faced.

~ ~ ~

The familiar sound of the cell's lock being opened turned Sully's concentration toward the door. While waiting for it to open, his thoughts turned from his next chess move to his next bribe. What would it take this time, he wondered, for them to leave him alone? He glanced from his kit of food stuffs then back to his opponent before turning his head back to the door. It was Friday, November 8th, 1918. The cell door opened.

For an instant, Sully stared at the man standing in the doorway. "What's happened?" he asked.

It was Shaw. "They've asked for a truce!"

"Who has?"

"The bloody Germans, of course!"

Sully glared at Frank before standing up. "Then... it's over?"

"It's only a matter of time now," Hobson interjected, after appearing behind Shaw. "They're negotiating for an armistice as we speak."

Sully's bearded face remained expressionless. He stepped out of his cell and found the guards gone. It was a rare feeling. The sensation of freedom was quickly overtaken by the urge to abandon everything to optimism.

"Hey!" Frank hollered, breaking the silence. "Is someone going to let me out of here?"

Moments later, the men walked out into the compound. Finding it alive with anticipation, Frank dared to tempt fate by wondering if he had left the camp's cells for the last time.

"The Bolsheviks have all but taken over," Shaw stated.

In the distance they could see General Exner standing on the landing in front of his office. At the base of the stairs, a small civilian delegation seemed to be relieving the General of all but a few of his former powers. While the men were happy to witness the beginning of the end, a sense of upheaval tempered their enthusiasm.

"We've heard they're flying the red flag in the village," Hobson added.

Just then, Sully saw Ludwig, the camp guard, hurriedly walking across the compound. "Ludwig!" he shouted. In only moments, Ludwig joined the group. It was obvious his nerves were on edge.

"What's happening?" Sully asked.

"I don't like it one bit. My country is being overtaken by Bolshevism. Look," he said, referring to the group of civilians," the man taking control of the camp is from my village. By trade, he is a butcher."

"Dear God," Shaw distressed.

Ludwig shook his head, reflecting, "the war has forsaken too many and for too long." He then glanced over to Sully, "I've been told we're not to leave the camp in our uniforms."

"It's that bad?" Sully asked.

Ludwig only nodded.

With the majority of prisoners milling about in the compound, Sully wondered to what degree the Bolsheviks would hold England responsible for their hardship. If the civilian population were blaming the military, even camp guards for their predicament, then how would Allied prisoners be viewed? What would happen, he thought to himself, if armed revolutionaries showed up at the gates? Could the guards be counted on? Would they be able to hold off an angry mob?

"The sooner the armistice is signed the better," Hobson suggested.

"The whole thing has the stench of mob rule," Shaw added.

After the Bolshevik delegation left, the men watched a dejected Exner walk back into his office. Four years of order were evaporating in front of their eyes. While most embraced the instability, some found it strangely unnerving. Sully never imagined the end to his imprisonment arriving in this way.

"It will be all over when we have the armistice," Ludwig said with tempered optimism.

"Do you think most are ready to become a republic?" Hobson asked.

"I think it will be better than this!"

~ ~ ~

Late the next afternoon, the four boys, Steve, Dave, Jimmy and Terry took advantage of an early break from their normal Saturday routine, wasting little time setting off into the countryside for another adventure. While navigating its familiar fence lines and field walls, the beautiful Cotswold Hills would remain a paradox of splendour. If today they stood by as a backdrop to a less than preferred life, they would forever be linked to a volume of wonderful memories, recollections of their youth, which would endure in the minds of Steve and Dave forever.

"It looks tempting, doesn't it?" Steve suggested.

"It sure does," Jimmy agreed.

The boys stood gazing out over one of three local millponds. Its lush green enclosure was a perfect frame to their favourite summer swimming hole.

"Too cold for me," Dave suggested. Coming in from behind them, he skipped a stone across the pond's surface. "One, two, three," he counted. 'Beat that... if you can!"

Jimmy set about to search for a stone of his own.

"Should we head for Woodchester?" Steve asked.

"Might as well," Terry agreed as they continued on.

Woodchester Mansion was an unfinished masterpiece of medieval architecture, which lay within its own four-hundred acre park. While its yellow Cotswold limestone stood like a monument to the unfulfilled dreams of one, William Leigh, its masonry features were but a façade to its emptiness, an interior lacking only the creativity of four boundless imaginations.

As the boys ventured toward Woodchester and shared their thoughts as to the theme of their mansion's remodelling, Steve and David were unaware that their father was in fact arriving in London, having entrained from the port at Gravesend on the Thames.

~ ~ ~

After knocking on the door of the familiar row house, Daniel stood alone, waiting patiently with his thoughts. He wondered if Mary's father would still be there. Did he survive the still unfolding influenza? During the passing of several minutes, Daniel tried to distract himself from the unresponsiveness by turning to look down the street. He tried to imagine Mary's footsteps taking her to and from work at the hospital. He thought of her waiting for the boys to come home from school, in the very spot he was standing.

He considered the last few days, and how quickly events had fallen together. In retrospect, time seemed to be lacking in any normal sense of continuity. Daniel couldn't help feeling, sometimes, that he was drifting through an unpredictable fog.

~ ~ ~

"Men, our travel papers have arrived," Lieutenant Forsythe announced only three days previous.

Though Daniel's expression was longing, the Lieutenant could read his mind.

"Yours too, Donoghue, we leave by train in the morning."

Having arrived in Rotterdam late in the evening, the men were further surprised by the news of a convoy of ships preparing for England. They would leave in the wee hours of the very next morning. It was two a.m. when their ship slipped its moorings and soon found the Hook of Holland. From there, they took their place among fifteen ships, a dozen of which were destroyers of Britain's Silent Navy. Even with their protection, this was for many escaped prisoners the most perilous part of an already storied journey.

Was it possible that more than four years of captivity could end here? Daniel asked himself. With the anxiety of it almost too much to bear, the blackness of night seemed to fuel more questions than answers. He stood at the starboard railing of his steamship and gazed out over the English Channel. 'What was the purpose of these... the last few years of my life?' Daniel reflected. 'Will my epitaph read, "he tested the tolerable limits of indignity... of human endurance?" 'What will my contribution to humanity be... if it all ends right here, right now?' When the ship's anchor was finally dropped in the lower reaches of the Thames, so was Daniel's spirit raised by the prospect of being so close to home. It would be, he realized, only a short sail up dear old father Thames.

~ ~ ~

While standing on Patrick's landing, he questioned whether the past four years had actually happened. Were they just a very bad dream? It seemed that way sometimes. He felt himself wanting to put the memories behind him, so far behind that he sometimes found himself vowing to never speak of them again. He was home; only the future mattered now. The reason for his existence surged within him. He knew he would find his boys and they would find him alive, but would he be able to bring them home to Patrick's, at least for now? That was the question.

Though it seemed like he had been there an hour, in reality only minutes had passed. He looked up and down the street again before asking himself whether he should knock again, or just leave. He could drop the letter he had in his pocket on his way out, in the post-box just down the street, but he hadn't come this far to give up so easily. Suddenly, he heard a noise coming from inside the house. Someone was coming to the door. After turning towards it, he watched as it was pulled once then twice, before it finally opened. Daniel stared, for a moment, at the person on the other side of the threshold. A poignant pause ensued, before Daniel stepped inside.

~ ~ ~

"Alright then," Father Murtaugh stated, after sitting down with Mother Superior and Sister Claudia. "After reading them all, I'm able to draw only one conclusion."

"Yes" Sister Claudia concurred, "I've made my decision as well."

Sister Claudia and the Reverend exchanged a glance of like-minded thought. The three of them were going over the sermon submissions in Mother Superior's office, and they were ready to choose a winner.

"One does seem to rise above the rest," Father suggested, to Sister Claudia's nod of agreement.

"I would agree with you on that, Father," Mother Superior acknowledged. "But what concerns me is how does a boy of twelve manage to articulate such ideas?"

She looked at Father Murtaugh over her spectacles while holding Steve's Homily in her hands.

"I suppose some of the ideas seem a little beyond his years," Father agreed.

"But, if I may," Sister Claudia tried to interject.

"If I had to guess," Mother Superior continued, before turning her attention toward Sister Claudia, "It gives me pause to think someone has received a little more help than the others."

"Oh no!" Sister Claudia declared. "If you would let me explain."

"If I may suggest further, I do seem to remember a couple of young boys being in my office some time ago when a certain Bible quote was mentioned... I think it was the exact same verse. Luke chapter 17, was it Father?"

"Yes, I do recall," Father admitted. "But as I remember it..."

"Yes, Father," Sister Claudia interjected, "sorry for interrupting, but I only made the suggestion after reading the same reference in a letter the boys' father had written them."

Mother Superior recoiled. "You've been reading their letters?"

"I've read almost every one."

Father Murtaugh looked as though he was questioning Sister Claudia's judgement.

"That seems a little unusual, doesn't it?" the head nun stated, glancing at the Reverend.

"I can assure you, it's not what you think. The boys appreciate their father's letters being read to them... just as their mother did."

"I'm sorry for doubting you, Sister," Father Murtaugh stated. "It sounds as though your intentions were honourable... as usual. It makes perfect sense to me now. My vote stands, and I think you know what it is."

"Alright, Father, but I'm going to have to see for myself why I shouldn't disqualify Master Donoghue's submission."

"Will you be able to arrange for that, Sister?" the Reverend asked, after getting up from his chair.

"I suppose I can ask if they would be willing to part with a few of their letters... for a short while."

"If that would assist you in your decision, Mother Superior, I'll leave the fate of our winner in your hands. I should mention, though, that the winner is still scheduled to present his Homily at tomorrow's Mass."

"I think we will have it all sorted out by then," Mother Superior suggested.

"I'm sure you will," Father added, before getting up and suggesting the meeting was over for now.

After making the short walk from the Convent to the boys' residence, Sister Claudia found the house almost completely vacant.

"Sister Margaret," she hollered, after entering the front door. "Sister Margaret, have you seen Master's Steven or David?"

"You know I'm not the boys' keeper," she bellowed from the kitchen.

"Of course not, Sister," she said, after walking the several paces to look through the kitchen door. "It's just I need to borrow something from them. Will you tell them to see me as soon as they get back?"

"I'm not their messenger either."

As the elder Sister continued her task unabated, Sister Claudia's tone became exasperated.

"Please, Sister Margaret, you know I don't ask for much."

"Oh alright then, be gone with 'ya. I've got work to do."

"Thank you, Sister."

With Sister Margaret's reassurance, Sister Claudia went upstairs and found the bundle of letters she was looking for. Helping her efforts, they were all numbered and wrapped with a piece of string. Also bound within them was the picture of Steven and David with their father. At first glance, something caught her eye. After looking more closely at the picture, she noticed that one of the boys had written the names 'Steve,' 'Dave' and 'Dad' on the photo. Her heart sank, as it appeared to be an attempt to confirm they once had a father. She stared at the picture, for a moment, before putting it back. Then descending the stairs with only two of the letters, she hoped Sister Margaret would not forget her promise.

~

~

"You'll not forget will you, Sister?" she hollered from the front door.

"Yes, yes, yes," she responded in kind from the kitchen. "But if they're late for dinner again, they won't be the first words out of my mouth!"

~ ~ ~

"Subjects of Woodchester," Jimmy roared. "Your Defenders have returned!"

"I thought we were to say Guardians," Dave suggested, looking at Terry.

"Same thing," Terry responded.

"Just think of what you could do," Steve thought out loud, "if you had the money to build something like this." Steve looked up at one of the over-hanging gargoyles, while Terry found their usual place to enter.

"I'd build something smaller," Dave touted, as they all entered the great hall. It's missing second and third floors above allowed their imaginations to soar.

"If I had the money to finish this," Terry said, looking up toward the high ceilings, "I'd turn it into a home for boys like us."

"That sounds brilliant," Jimmy agreed.

"Can you imagine," Steve proposed, "being able to build it according to our own plan?"

As Steve's words reverberated through the upper levels, one could almost hear the boys' voices assuming the authority of the architect, with outstretched arms and demonstrative hands, each of them echoing the other's grand design. William Leigh would certainly be proud. For in the end, Woodchester's limitless potential would not be forsaken.

Before their eyes, scaffolds and pulleys assembled once more, while carpenters and masons, worthy craftsmen, resumed. The aroma of sawdust from freshly hewn wood permeated the air while sounds of chirping chisels underscored a rhythmic overture. In their minds, Woodchester would be reborn. Once again, the skill of the tradesmen was equalled by the breadth of the designer's imagination.

~

Woodchester Mansion

~

"We'd spare no expense," Jimmy stated.

The four boys found their way up scaffolding, which had been left behind by the original workers. They each sat on their own plank. Jimmy occupied the highest perch.

"That's right," said Jimmy, "instead of staircases, I'd want ladders and ropes from floor to floor."

And in front of their very eyes, it became so.

"Yes," Steve continued, "instead of rooms and walls, I'd like to have tents with glowing lanterns."

"How about," Jimmy added, "instead of pictures and furniture, we'd have lush green trees with songbirds singing."

"Like a camp out," Dave offered

And again, their words gave semblance to their wishes; their dreams unfolded right in front of them.

"I know what's missing," Terry quipped.

"What?" Steve asked.

"Every man's best friend."

"Of course," Dave added, "a loyal hound by everyone's side."

"Now we're talking," Steve suggested to the lads nodding agreement.

Suddenly, a voice from below suddenly startled them. "I would have to agree!"

The boys looked down and were surprised by seeing a soldier walking into the great room. From beneath, he looked up at them and smiled.

Dave was the first to relieve the tension of being discovered. "Are you David Moran's father?"

"No, I'm afraid not," the officer replied.

Despite the familiarity of his English accent, Steve noticed something out of place. "You're Canadian, aren't you?"

"Why, yes," he smiled. "You're an observant young lad."

"I noticed the leaf on your cap badge."

Looking further upward, the man spotted Jimmy on a plank two floors up. "I would never have climbed that high when I was your age."

"I like the view," Jimmy said, glancing out one of the pane-less windows.

"Are you afraid of heights?" Terry asked.

"He's a soldier Terry," Dave blurted, "he's not afraid of anything."

"No, boys," the officer laughed, "there's nothing wrong with being afraid once in a while. It's how you control your fear that's important."

"How do you do that?" Steve asked. "Control your fear, I mean."

"Well, I always try to focus on the task at hand... what I'm trying to accomplish and," he said before pausing.

"And... what?" Dave asked, softly.

"And for whom I'm doing it!"

Each of the four boys' eyes was affixed to the smartly dressed officer.

"You grew up 'round here, then?" Steve asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, just the other side of the village."

"You wouldn't happen to know what time it is?" Terry asked.

The Officer looked down and straightened his wristwatch with his other hand. "In a quarter of an hour, it'll be five o'clock."

"We'd better be going," Jimmy suggested, getting up from his scaffold.

"Sorry, Sir," Steve stated, doing the same, "it's been nice meeting you but..."

"Do you mind if I join you?" the Officer spoke up. "I should be getting back myself."

"As long as you can keep up," Dave asserted.

The officer smiled. "I'll do my best."

One by one they left Woodchester, stepping through one of its glass-less windows. And after setting out for Nympfield, the Officer was delighted by the fact that the entirety of their conversation was consumed by one topic.

"What's Canada like?" Steve asked.

"Well let me tell 'ya, lads," the Officer answered. "If you've any sense of adventure, Canada is the country for you."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

### The faithful

And now these three remain: faith hope and love.

But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthean 13:13, NIV

"It's settled then?" the Reverend asked Mother Superior.

"It is," she replied.

Sister Claudia raised her hand while walking down the church's centre aisle. "Oh, Mother Superior," she called. "May I have a word with you?" She passed several parishioners, who were in the process of trying to find a seat, before joining Father Murtaugh and Mother Superior at the back of St. Joseph's Church. It was Sunday, November 10th, and the pews were filled with murmurs of optimism.

"If there's anything else I can do for you, Father?" Mother Superior asked, before passing the priest an envelope.

After tilting his head down, Father Murtaugh opened the enclosure. He partially slid out its contents. Seeing a single name, he smiled and nodded, before slipping the card back in, concealing the winning contestant's name.

"No, Mother Superior," he said, glancing up at her, "you've already done enough... as always." Then after exchanging a brief smile with Sister Claudia, he added, "If you don't mind, Sisters."

"That's quite alright, Father," Mother Superior concurred, "your congregation awaits you."

For a moment, Sister Claudia's eyes followed the Reverend up the church's centre aisle. She watched him exchange a few greetings with his parishioners before turning her attention back toward her Mother Superior.

"What can I do for you, my child?" the elder nun asked.

She nodded toward the boy standing a short distance outside the church. "It's about David Moran, mum."

"I thought Father Murtaugh intended to a word with him."

"He did, Sister, it's just..."

"Then why isn't he sitting with the other boys?' Mother Superior said, glancing from Sister Claudia to the noncompliant boy. David looked nervous and ready to test his legs.

"He will sit with them, it's just he wants me to sit here at the back to look out for his father."

"This is getting quite out of hand, don't you think?" Mother Superior made a move toward David, as if she were about haul David into the church by the scruff of his neck.

"I'm sorry, mum..." Sister Claudia stated, passing Mother Superior while walking out to the boy. "But I already promised I would."

After ushering the tepid young man into the church, Sister Claudia looked apologetic. "Would you mind finding David a seat with the other boys? Sorry to give in, but I think the service will take place without incident this way."

Mother Superior frowned and shook her head. "What is this world coming to?" Somewhat frustrated by the whole matter, she then gave in. "You take him up front. I'll sit back here."

"That's not necessary, Sister."

"Yes it is," she replied. "You've put your heart into this contest. You should be there when the winner is announced."

"Oh, mum." Her eyes were as grateful as her tone.

"Go on," she insisted, while passing her the winning submission. "And you, Master Moran," Mother Superior scolded. David looked back while he and Sister Claudia walked up the centre aisle. "If I hear one word out of you..."

"Alright, Father, they're all seated," an altar boy stated. About to serve during the mass, he looked through a small glass window in the door; it led out onto to the church altar. He and his fellow server were waiting with the Reverend in his antechamber, just behind the Altar. Then with the opening of that door being the only cue required, the congregation rose to their feet, as their parish priest emerged. Spiritually, the church came alive under a respectful hush. While flanking him one to a side, the two altar boys walked with Father Murtaugh before stopping in front of the altar.

"In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti," he began, making the sign of the cross.

"Amen," the congregation responded.

"Introibo ad altare Dei," "I will go to the Altar of God," he continued with his back to the faithful.

In the traditional Latin Mass, Father Murtaugh recited passages of Psalm 42 as the congregation responded in kind.

"Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini," "Our help is in the name of the Lord," he proclaimed.

"Qui fecit coelum et terram," "Who made heaven and earth" the parishioners confirmed.

Then, as it was his custom, Father Murtaugh broke from the Latin tradition and turned to greet his congregation.

"Bonom mane, quisque," "Good morning everyone," he repeated in the vernacular.

"Good morning, Father," the parish responded.

He smiled, pausing just long enough to take in the moment.

"First, I would like to take the opportunity to thank you all for coming out to this morning's celebration."

Nods and smiles punctuated the crowded pews.

"Indeed, if you could only knew how heart-warming it is for me to see so many familiar faces... and some new ones as well." He glanced out over his audience. "Yes, I suppose if it is God's call we've all answered today, then it is in no small measure the result of hearing how much the world is in need of our prayers. If this is so, then let us join together in God's name and dedicate this service to those whose task it is to bring this war, this... tragedy of human suffering to its final conclusion." Father clasped his hands in reflection. "God teaches us to be faithful, doesn't he? And in so doing doesn't he also sow the seed of hope, of encouragement? I think I can speak for everyone present when I say, we are all nurturing that seed today ... aren't we?" He returned the nods of his faithful.

"Speaking of encouragement," he stated, "you may not remember, but there is another reason to be optimistic this Sunday. Now I know some of you may have to feign your sincerest expression of disappointment, but today you won't have to listen to one of my Homilies. No," Father continued, as the congregation laughed aloud. "No, today you are in for a special treat. Yes, my friends, a little later on, I will be announcing the winner of our annual Sermon Contest. And might I add, that winner," he said, glancing over the boys in front of him, "is right here in these very pews." He stopped for a moment and stared at them. "Honestly boys, there's no reason to look so nervous! So without prolonging that event any further," he laughed, "if you don't mind, we'll continue the Mass where we left off."

Then turning back to face the Altar, Father Murtaugh took a moment to resume his solemn demeanour.

"Confiteor Deo omnipotenti," "I confess to almighty God."

~ ~ ~

"Excuse me," a man hollered from the road. "Excuse me," he repeated, before getting the man's attention. The elderly farmer, who was working in the nearby field, put his hand up to his ear.

"Can you tell me where I can find...?" the man repeated.

While beginning to walk toward him, the experienced farmer nodded his head, as if for the man to repeat himself once more.

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but can you tell me where I can find the boys' orphanage? It's called Marist House."

With a few more plodding strides, the two met at a fence running parallel to the road.

"You're looking for the boys' house?" the elder farmer asked.

"Sorry to pull you away from your work, but yes, I am."

"It'd be down that road on the left," he panted. "The school house is attached. You can't miss it," he offered, pointing in the correct direction.

"Thank you very much. You've been a great help," the man said, before turning to leave.

"But if it's the boys you're looking for..." the farmer continued.

"Sorry?"

"I say, if it's the boys you are looking for, they'd all be in church at this hour."

"In church?"

"Yes, in St. Joseph's. It's around the corner, just there," he said, pointing again.

"Well then, thank you again."

Within moments that same man was looking into St. Joseph's through a narrow opening in the church's front doors. Seeing the congregation standing, he pushed the door open just enough to recognize the priest was in the process of reading the Gospel. Quietly, he widened the opening a little further. Not sure if he should enter mid-mass, or wait outside until it finished, he paused. Just then, a nun at the back of the church turned toward him and smiled. She was standing in the last pew closest to the centre aisle. To the soldier's great relief, the sister waved him in.

"Come in," she whispered, "there's a spot beside me, here."

He nodded, before obliging.

"Laus tibi, Christe." "Praise to you, oh Christ," the congregation recited, as the man took his position beside Sister Benedict.

"Per evangelica dicta deleantur nostra delicta." "May the words of the Gospel wipe away our sins," Father Murtaugh added, before turning to face his parishioners.

"Please be seated," he instructed.

Mother Superior's curiosity was peaked. "Are you here for your son?" she asked, as the congregation sat down in their pews.

Father Murtaugh continued. "Now for the point in the mass we've all been waiting for." With a flair for the dramatic, he pulled an envelope from under his robe.

"As a matter of fact, I am," the man replied, in a hushed voice.

Mother Superior leaned toward him. "We've been expecting you," she confided, nodding.

Father continued. "Now, as I said earlier in the mass, our annual sermon contest has produced another winner. Yes, isn't that wonderful," he said, responding to the enthusiasm. "Firstly, let me take a moment to congratulate all of those who participated. I can assure you, you have inspired in me more than a few future sermons, the themes of which you will hear in this very church... that's if you pay attention, of course." Father said, smiling at the boys, "Without further ado, let me suggest to you that after all the hard work that has gone into each and every entry, it gives me great pleasure to be able to make that announcement now."

The man's attention seemed to be captivated by both Father Murtaugh and Mother Superior. "You've been expecting me?" he whispered to her.

"But first, let me thank our Mother Superior... I'm not sure where she is. Where are you, Sister Benedict?" Father Murtaugh asked, looking out over the congregation. "Oh there you are!" Mother Superior then stood up to acknowledge a light applause. As she did, Sister Claudia glanced back from the front row where she was seated. At first she smiled, but as Mother Superior sat back down, she couldn't help noticing the man sitting beside her. Her expression turned introspective. And after turning back toward Father Murtaugh, the odd sense of not being able to put a name to a face preoccupied her thoughts.

"I would also like to thank Sister Claudia for all her help with each student's submission."

Sister Claudia responded politely with a smile and a slight wave of her hand.

Mother Superior whispered: "Your son should be in the front row on the right."

"Are they both seated together?"

"Both?" Mother Superior seemed confused. "Aren't you David Moran's father?"

"No, I'm afraid I'm not."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I mistook you for someone else." A short pause ensued. "But I thought you said you were here for your son."

"Yes, I'm sorry, Sister, I suppose I should have said sons."

Father Murtaugh became buoyed with enthusiasm. "And now for the winning entry," he announced. He waved the unopened envelope around for all to see.

"Sons?" Mother Superior whispered. She seemed puzzled.

Father Murtaugh slowly pulled out the winning name.

"Your name isn't...?" she asked, before their attention was drawn to the front.

"And the winner is... Steven Donoghue!"

As the congregation filled the church with the sound of clapping, the man sitting beside Mother Superior did the same. He turned toward her and beamed. "My name is Daniel Donoghue."

"Daniel Donoghue," she repeated, under the sound of a generous applause.

Sister Claudia proudly stood up, and then motioned for Steven to do the same. As Steve stumbled through his pew, over a few jealous feet, Dave rejoiced in the thought of the coveted prize. "Can you believe it?" he shouted at Jimmy. "We're going to a real football match!"

After replacing Father Murtaugh at the lectern, Sister Claudia pulled the winning sermon from her cloak and placed in front of Steve. She then took two steps back and to the right, conceding the podium to the timid winner.

Mother Superior looked at Daniel. "Would you like me to say something?"

"No thank you, Sister. I would very much like to hear what he has to say. Besides, I think he would never get through it, if he knew I was here." Daniel then allowed himself to be concealed behind the man in front of him.

"Before you start, Master Steven," Father Murtaugh stated loudly, "would you mind telling the parishioners the name of your submission."

Steve looked at the Reverend before glancing over to Sister Claudia. Her reassuring nod helped to fortify his confidence.

"The title of my sermon is... 'My Kingdom.'"

Steve glanced nervously from the audience back to his script. He took a deep breath, and began to read:

"In 1st John," he stated, before stalling and clearing his throat. "In 1st John, chapter 4, verse 11, John said: 'And we have known and believed the love God hath to us. God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.'"

"That was one of my father's favourite passages from the Bible. The reason I know this is because he used to read to my brother and me at bedtime. He liked reading the Bible to us, but that was before he left for the war. And though many nights have now passed without him, sitting at our bedside, I have to admit it's not what he said that I miss the most. It's how he said it.

As Steve glanced infrequently at those listening, Sister Claudia stood behind him. She looked out over the congregation. With her eyes being drawn to the man sitting beside Mother Superior, she couldn't help feeling she had seen him before, but where? Then, it came to her; she remembered the photo. She couldn't believe she was looking at Steven's and David's father!

Steve's eyes were focused more on his script than the congregation. "Here's one worth remembering, he used to say before reading from another of verse from the same chapter."

"He that loveth not, knoweth not God; for God is love."

"It is one worth remembering, I would agree, however what I miss the most is not the words but the sound of his voice, as I drifted off to sleep."

"Since then, I've often wondered what it would be like if he were to sit at the foot of our bed again. One thing I know for certain is I would stay awake much longer. I would listen to his voice all night, if I could. I think I can honestly say it would be him, not I who would fall asleep first."

"If I had the chance to do it over again, maybe I would read to him. I think he would enjoy that even more than reading to us. If I did, I know which passage I would recite. It's the one he liked the most."

"In Luke chapter 17, verse 21, it says, 'Neither shall they say, Lo it is here! or Lo it is there! For behold, the Kingdom of God is within you.'"

"But if I was doing the reading and he was the one listening, I suppose I would have to ask him the same question he asked me, 'What do you think Jesus meant when he said the Kingdom of God is within you?'"

"Honestly, if my father asked me that question again, I'm not sure I'd be able answer it any better now than I did then. I would probably still shrug my shoulders... if it were not for his letters."

"You see, my father was a soldier before the war, so when it started, he was one of the first to answer the call. Fortunately for my mother and my brother and me, he was captured within the first two weeks of the war. I say fortunately because my mother always used to say: It's the only reason he's survived this long, and will survive the war. Since then, we've been writing each other as often as we can."

"So if my father asked me that same question today, I could simply refer to one of the dozens of letters he wrote to us over the years."

"If you don't understand what it means, my mother would say, ask him to explain it. And so he did, as always, in one of those letters."

"'Try not to think of it as the sort of Kingdom we have here on earth,' he wrote, 'one with a King at the top and all his subjects below. When Jesus said: 'My Kingdom is not of this world,' that's exactly what he meant. His is not a worldly kingdom, but a spiritual one. It's not one kingdom under the power of one (a King,) but many kingdoms having been given the power by one (God). If John says, 'God is love,' and that 'he dwelleth within you,' maybe it's easier to understand if we think of both God and love as a light that shines inside of us. I like to think of our souls,' he said in one letter, 'as points of light joined by the threads of a web. While it is up to us to make that light shine brightly, one thing is for certain, the more that light shines out from you, and from others onto you, the more we are connected together in God's name.'"

It was as if many parishioners could visualize a star-filled night sky in the space above and behind Steve. In their mind's eye, every point of light became interconnected by thin luminous threads. Smiles further illustrated the congregation's spiritual kinship.

Steve glanced from his captivated audience back to his script.

"I was just one when my older brother died. I was older, though, when my youngest brother died. When that happened, my father wrote to me and said I should think of him as a light that has joined the one within me. I still like to think of it that way, that their light has made mine all the brighter, that their Kingdoms have joined mine.

"When my father lived with us at home, we used to play a game called My Kingdom. Each of us would think of something we really wanted. Just for fun we would say something like, 'I'd give up My Kingdom for this or I'd give up My Kingdom for that.' At the time, I was always willing to give up My Kingdom for an extra hour before bedtime. My father was the best at it, though. He was good at making us laugh. I remember him saying, 'My Kingdom for another day with you lads.' We didn't laugh, though, when we heard him say it the night before he left for the war."

"Mum wasn't good at it at all. She would always say something like, 'I'd give up My Kingdom for a new apron or a new pair of shoes.'

Laughter was soon hushed by Steve's next admission.

"When she died I would have given anything, even My Kingdom to have her back."

"That's when my brother Dave and I came to Marist House. When I arrived at Nympsfield, I don't mind admitting, I was filled with sadness. Then I met Sister Claudia. After we got to know each other, she would read my father's letters to us in the same way my mother did. She told me the only way I could give away my kingdom was to share it, to let its light shine on others. I think she is right. It took me awhile but, I eventually accepted that my mother's Kingdom had joined mine, just as my two brothers had done when they died."

'Somehow," Steve concluded, "I think it would make my mother's light shine a little bit brighter knowing that I was here today... sharing My Kingdom with you."

With the last words of Steve's homily being delivered, Father Murtaugh smiled before leading his followers into a resounding applause. Knowing it was finally over, Steve turned toward Sister Claudia, and then the reverend.

"Well done, Steve!" Father Murtaugh offered.

Steve grinned before drawing a heavy sigh. His sense of delight was obvious, yet within the acclaim, Father Murtaugh's attention was drawn from Steve to a single and loudest set of clapping hands. Glancing back, he was struck by the sight of that same man stepping out from his pew. As other parishioners turned, they too were surprised to see a stranger walking up the centre aisle. Compelled to follow, smiling, Mother Superior accompanied him, some distance behind.

Knowing who the man was, Sister Claudia quickly drew Steve's, then Dave's attention to him.

Steve stared. His heart almost stopped.

"Dad!" he yelled, before running from the altar. Dave turned to look back. He was dumbfounded. After squeezing through the other boys in his pew, Dave stopped in the aisle before he too raced toward his father. Daniel dropped to one knee.

"We knew you would come for us!" Dave cried, as he and Steve flew into their father's arms.

Daniel hugged his sons like never before. He kissed each of them before tears were seen rolling down his cheeks. The congregation were emotionally enthralled. Handkerchiefs dabbed many eyes.

After walking up to them, Father Murtaugh exclaimed, "You must be Daniel Donoghue!"

Daniel stood up, holding Steven and David close to his side. "I am," he said, his voice quivering.

As Father Murtaugh looked on with amazement, Sister Claudia joined them with tears in her eyes. "I'm breathless... your timing was..."

"Divinely inspired," Father Murtaugh interjected. He held out his hand. "You must be a proud father."

Daniel embraced Father's hand. "Proud is too small a word, Father. Proud is too small a word."

After sitting with his boys through to the Mass's conclusion, Daniel was overjoyed to join his sons and the other parishioners outside the church.

"Thank you, Father," Daniel offered. "It was a wonderful service."

"Yes, I would have to admit, it's the grip of a compelling sermon that makes it so," he stated, smiling at Steven. "Have you got a place to stay?" he asked. Members of the congregation milled about. While nods and smiles of encouragement were the currency of the moment, Steve couldn't help noticing David Moran lurking around the fringes of the crowd. After gesturing for him to join them, Steve was saddened to see him run away.

"We have, Father," Daniel responded. "My father-in-law in London has offered his house."

Dave's eyes instantly lit up. "Grandad is alright then?"

"He is boys. He's come through it, he has."

"Well, it's certainly a pleasure to finally meet you, Daniel," Sister Claudia said, after offering her hand.

"I'm sure the pleasure is all mine, Sister." Daniel responded. He offered the young nun a polite handshake.

"Your letters have kept them going," she added.

"You still have them, do you?" Daniel asked his sons.

"We do, Dad. They're in a box under my bed," Steve reassured.

Mother Superior clasped her hands, after joining the small group "If you want to collect a few of the boys' things, I'm sure Sister Claudia would be more than happy to help."

"Of course," Sister Claudia complied.

"Then do you want to say some goodbyes before we leave?"

"Yes," Dave agreed, turning to his friends. "Dad, this is Jimmy and this is Terry," he said, putting his hand on one and then the other.

"They've been inseparable," Father Murtaugh suggested.

"Then we'll have to make sure they stay in touch."

As the boys exchanged both handshakes, they assured themselves of a shared future, one far beyond the small village unable to contain their imaginations. While leaving, Steve looked back at his friends. It was truly a bittersweet moment.

"We'll meet you in Canada, then," Terry yelled, as they departed.

"We will!" Dave agreed.

As they walked through the village, Sister Claudia followed at a respectful distance. And after finding themselves in front of Marist House, she insisted, "You three go ahead and collect your things. I'll wait for you here."

Then, with the passing of only several minutes, Sister Claudia's attention was drawn to the opening of the front door. Daniel stepped out of the house first. The boys followed.

"Thank you for waiting, Sister. Before the boys say their goodbyes, I wanted to express my gratitude."

"Oh no, Mr. Donoghue," Sister Claudia said, modestly, "I think it is I who has benefited more from them being here."

"Well," Daniel said, looking down at the boys, "they've been through a lot, haven't ya' lads?"

While Dave looked anxious to get going, the departures were playing on Steve more than his brother. He seemed to be torn between emotions.

"I suppose we all have, haven't we?" Sister said, looking at Daniel.

"Well boys, what have you got to say for yourselves? Come on... Dave you first."

As Dave reluctantly walked forward, Sister Claudia descended to one knee. "Good bye, Sister Claudia," he said, sheepishly.

"Ah, I'm going to miss you too, David," she said, before extending her arms. Dave reluctantly enjoyed her embrace.

Upon being released, he turned away. He seemed embarrassed by his feelings.

"Steve," Daniel hinted.

"Thank you, Sister," Steve said. After pausing for a moment, he took a step toward her. "Thank you for everything you've done for us," he said, with a wavering voice. Sister Claudia then reached out and held one of Steve's hands.

"I'm going to miss you the most," he added. At that moment, Sister Claudia pulled Steve toward her. Upon their embrace, they each gave into their emotions, allowing tears to run down their faces.

"Promise me you'll write, will you?" she asked, while still holding his hand.

"Don't worry, Sister," Daniel stated, "I'll make sure of it."

After Sister Claudia watched the three of them wave goodbye, Daniel and the two boys turned the final corner to leave Nympsfield. But just as they did so, a man walking toward them stopped and asked them for directions.

"You wouldn't happen to know where the boys' orphanage is would you?" the soldier asked.

"Yes, of course," Daniel began.

When his father finished giving the soldier the directions, Steve piped up. "Your name wouldn't happen to be Moran would it?"

"Why, as a matter of fact it is!" he replied.

After Daniel, Steve and David resumed their walk to the train Daniel couldn't help but ask, "How did you know that man's name?"

"Oh, I just did," he mused.

"Say, Dad," asked Steve.

"Yes, son?"

"You're not going to leave us ever again, are you?"

"Never again, boys... never again!"

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

To live in the hearts of those

we leave behind is not to die.

Thomas Campbell

Motto of the Royal Munster Fusiliers Association

You're a hard man to find sometimes," Hobson said, after locating his friend outside their barrack. Sully looked at him without responding.

"A few of the lads have put together a supply of food for the hospital in the village. I thought you might like to come along?"

"Do you think the Reds will let you through?"

Hobber leaned up against the bungalow. "I'm not sure it's them we have to worry about."

As soon as those words left Hobber's mouth, their attention was drawn toward the front gate.

"HALT!" General Exner blasted.

He had just burst out of his office, stopping at the top of the stairs. His appearance was somewhat dishevelled, his greatcoat hung loosely over his shoulders.

"I thought I gave strict orders that nothing is to leave this camp without my permission."

Sully and Hobson looked on as the men guiding the handcart came to stop. While one of them tried to appeal to the General's sense of compassion, a civilian controlling who came and went from the camp walked briskly toward them. After ordering the cart through, Sully watched the General, once again relieved of his former authority.

"Out-ranked by a bit of red cloth," Sully said, shaking his head.

Hobson grinned. "Don't tell me you feel sorry for him?"

"I suppose we've all got a bit of adjusting to do, haven't we?"

Sully cast a blank stare across the compound. The front gate opened, allowing a contingent of me to leave along with those pulling the cart.

"Are you coming?" Hobson asked, after taking a few steps.

"No, you go ahead," he replied. "Besides, I've heard the grippe (influenza) is getting bad in the village."

"I'll hold my breath then," Hobson laughed as he ran to catch up.

By the time the Armistice was signed, life at Limburg was, in many ways, returning to normal. With rumours of armed revolutionaries showing up at the gates eventually dispelled, and the expectation of how the following days and weeks would unfold preoccupying everyone, the future weighed more heavily on some than others.

"The future may be good for you, Sully," Ludwig exclaimed, "but for us? Why do you impose such terms?"

While standing idly in the compound, Sully was at a loss for words.

"We will have a new government. Our Kaiser is gone! Under the circumstances I might agree this seems fair. But the Blockade... we will not survive if you keep up the Blockade."

Again, Sully only stared at Ludwig. After watching him leave, Sully couldn't help feeling a sense of empathy. It was as though the last act of an unimaginable tragedy was unfolding in front of his eyes.

As far as the prisoners of Limburg were concerned, November the 17th marked a turning point in their captivity. It was the day in which official permits began to be issued, allowing the men to go into the village.

After walking freely into Limburg for the first time, Sully couldn't have been more surprised by what he saw. He and his mates expected to see a town burdened by the imposition of the Armistice. Instead, they were left speechless by the villagers' light heartedness. The entire town appeared fully involved in an extended period of celebration. And although the Blockade would remain in effect for months to come, somewhat surprisingly, the English were not received as the archenemy they once were. Limburg's atmosphere was as welcoming as it was festive.

Sully was at first taken aback by the children. Though their suffering seemed the most poignant, their youthfulness seemed unabated as they ran through the streets waving penny ensigns. Flags, which hung from nearby windows, added to their spirited display.

Then, without warning, Hobber and Shaw lurched backward. A motor car filled with returning German soldiers roared by, only narrowly missing them. Strangely, theirs' was not the demeanour of the vanquished. Quite the opposite, Hobber and Shaw became witness to a spectacle of singing and shouting. With banners hanging from their rifles, it was as if they were returning from the campaign victorious.

It wasn't until mid-December that the announcement came. And when it did, so came with it a realization of what it meant. Again, for Sully, the moment tested his ability to put his circumstances into some sort of perspective. After being a prisoner for over four years, he wondered if it would be possible to put the breadth of the experience behind him.

The day before he was scheduled to leave, Sully felt it too confining to stay indoors. Though it was raining off and on, he felt more at ease walking alone around the camp. The compound seemed so compelling, yet eerily vacant. Many prisoners had already been processed and transferred out. In fact, most of Sully's bungalow had begun their journey home. Sully could feel the chasm between the future and the past widening, and the void being filled with a range of emotions, with what could have and should have been.

After standing up from the edge of the once active stage, he looked around and relived a fleeting moment, a moment he would never forget. Soon thereafter, he found himself in front of an empty Parcel Office. He stared at its open door and wondered how things would be different if he hadn't found that letter. Then still later, he stood alone in his empty barrack. He glanced at this own bunk and realized that, with the same thought in mind, everyone had gone through their kit. Piles, which were once segregated into what to bring home and what to leave behind, now defined an eagerly discarded past. Then he dared a glance at his friend's empty bunk. While standing there silently, he couldn't help reflecting to this point in his life nothing had ever felt so heart wrenching.

First it was a train into France. Then from Nancy, Sully, Hobson and Shaw took a hospital train to Boulogne and from Boulogne, a hospital ship to England.

It was December 22 when Sully finally arrived at his sister's house in the north end of London. And for two days, the weight of an ominous responsibility slowly sank into his heart. He knew he would have to honour his friend's request. It's just he didn't know whether he was up to the task. After all, he always thought the job of uncle suited him better, at least better than father. Sully paced the floors of his sister's house, before finally resolving to do the right thing. He would pay a visit to Mary's father the day after Christmas.

With the relief of that being settled, Sully sat down in the front room. He picked up a book he started reading earlier that morning.

"I hope you're not earmarking those pages," Martha chided.

Sully looked up at his sister. A fearful memory of similar remarks flashed into his mind. Suddenly, the thought of living indefinitely with sister seemed out of the question.

He cleared his throat. "Have you got a bookmark?" His tone matched an expression that had been etched into a much younger face.

With that in mind, Martha walked over to the dresser in the front hallway. She began to go through its only drawer. "Oh," she said, being distracted from her original pursuit.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy, but this came for you some time ago. Maybe you could use it for now."

Martha handed him a letter.

After glancing at the writing, Sully jumped from his seat. He gasped! "Martha, when did you get this?"

"Oh, I don't know," she shrugged. "What's the post date?"

Sully's heart almost stopped. "November 14th!" he roared.

As his fingers nervously opened it, Martha was at a loss to understand. "November 14th... is that important?"

Sully didn't answer. His eyes were too busy devouring the words.

"I don't believe it!" he said, as his arms fell to his sides.

Martha looked at him with concern. "Jimmy... who is it from?"

The next morning was Christmas Day.

"Martha," Sully hollered, "I hope you don't mind, but I've got to go out for a while."

"Will you be home for supper?" she asked, looking down from the top of the stairs.

"I will," he said, glancing up at her.

"I was planning on fixing you something special."

"I promise I will. It's just... I've got to pay a visit to an old friend."

Later that Christmas morning, Sully found himself walking down Chelmsford Street, in Fulham. His stride weaved somewhat, as his eyes darted from the letter in his hand to the numbers on the houses. Then after stopping suddenly, he discovered his nerves simmering in the background. This must be the one, he said to himself, before closing the distance between himself and the front door. He knocked several times then waited. His heart pounded like never before. He knocked again and waited further. Finally, to his great relief the door opened. A broad smile came over his face. He stepped inside.

~ ~ ~

"Sometimes I don't know what to say, Dad."

As they walked through the solemn grounds, Daniel looked down at a preoccupied David.

"You know, when we're standing there," Dave said.

"That's alright, son."

Being a little unsure of what was expected of him Dave welcomed a reassuring glance from his older brother. "Sometimes, I say a prayer to myself," Steve suggested.

Fitting as it was for the day, a light snow slowly descended. The small amount that had already accumulated was crunching under their feet.

"Yes, you can say a prayer," their father agreed. "Or you can simply say what's in your heart at the time." He looked at Dave and could see he was no further inspired.

After looking on ahead, Daniel could see the now familiar spot in the distance. It was Mary's gravesite.

"Not to worry, lads," Daniel softly said, "I've brought something to read this time."

While Daniel and his sons prepared themselves to pay their respects at the New Fulham Cemetery, so did Claude, Jeanette and Juliette intend to do the same at a memorial dedicated to the martyrs of Heure Le Romain. It seemed appropriate their loved ones would be remembered in a special way during this, the first Christmas, since the end of the war.

Soon they came to a stop in front of what would become a tribute to their departed. Jeanette stood flanked by her father and daughter, each in support of the other. They stared intently at the inscribed names. As Juliette consoled her tearful mother, Jeanette's mournful appearance was punctuated by a small white piece of paper. It was clutched in her right hand.

And while one moment was defined through grief, another was yielding itself to the counting of blessings. After missing four Christmases at home, Hobber sat down with his wife, Christine, and his three daughters, only to find the gift of a loving family the most overwhelming. And as John Gregg Shaw stood, gazing off the port side of a ship, the ship bringing him home to Canada, his eyes received the horizon as if it represented the future; something, he vowed, he would never again take for granted.

Then Daniel, Steven and David came to a stop, their spirits being comforted by the silence. In respect for Mary, their demeanour descended with their eyes.

"You've brought something to read, Dad?"

"Yes, Dave. It's a poem... one that I wrote with your mother in mind. As it turned out, I left a copy with someone who helped me get home to you boys."

Daniel paused for a moment while Steve glanced up at him.

"Would either one of you like to read it?" he asked, pulling it from his coat.

"I'd rather you do it, Dad, if you don't mind," Steve suggested.

"Dave?" he asked. Dave motioned 'no' by shaking his head.

"Alright, then," he relented. "I'll see if I can't get through it."

Daniel knelt down onto one knee.

As he held up the poem and read the title, so did Jeanette at the very same time.

'Love is eternal.'

~

Their voices recited in unison.

~

Carve for me a sculpture of my heart

Of stone that sorrow won't break apart

As did the one I placed in your hands

Slip into a grief I cannot withstand

~

Paint for me the shadows of my mind

That shades of reason might unwind

A tormenting loss that may never heal

With endless tears over you I kneel

~

Sing for me the sorrow of my soul

With angelic harmony as if to console

Why heaven's gain is my suffering loss

Let grace be the hand to lighten my cross

~

Act, I will, as if your spirit lives in me

Shining from my soul in tribute to thee

Now rest therein, love you've become

Eternally you will live within My Kingdom

~

Daniel's head tipped downward. An extended pause was punctuated by the peacefulness of the moment.

"That was very nice, Dad," Steve offered, placing a hand on his father's shoulder. Daniel was unsuccessful at concealing a sniffle.

~ ~ ~

Claude and Juliette remained silent. Jeanette simply laid her head on her father's shoulder. Silence was as consoling for them as it was for Daniel and the boys.

~ ~ ~

As Daniel brushed the thin veil of snow off of Mary's marker, Dave looked up at the gently falling snow. He then became distracted by someone walking through the cemetery's front gate. "Is that grandad?" he asked, quietly.

"Grandad?" Steve questioned "I thought he wasn't felling up to it."

They both looked over in the same direction, but a hedgerow running parallel between them and the walkway obscured their view.

"Maybe he's changed his mind," Daniel agreed.

He sniffled again, and slowly stood up. Then joining the two boys, they stared for a moment at the end of the hedgerow, the spot where Patrick would soon emerge.

It wasn't long before their dispositions turned more cheerful. "Look, it is grandad," Dave declared.

Daniel smiled. "He's made it after all."

But in the time it took for Steve and Dave to take their first steps toward him, Patrick suddenly stopped. For some reason, he looked back toward the hedgerow. He looked to and from Daniel, as if he were expecting something more.

Daniel seemed puzzled.

"What's he...?" was all that Daniel could say, before the drama concluded.

Daniel's eyes widened.

Incredibly, his friend turned the corner and came into view.

"Sully!" Steve and Dave yelled. They instantly ran to greet him.

In an attempt to control his emotions, Daniel swallowed then pursed his lips. He stood beside Mary's grave in disbelief. Were his boys actually returning the embrace of his... his best mate? Sully then looked up at Daniel. He slowly walked over to him. Their eyes were affixed to each other as if reconfirming the depth and breadth of an uncommon friendship.

The two men exchanged a heartfelt embrace before separating.

"You made it," Sully stated.

Daniel stared into his friend's teary eyes.

"Didn't we!" was all he could say.

The End.

A few additional notes about my grandfather's regiment.

~

In total, nine full battalions of the Royal Munster Fusiliers saw action during the war to end all wars. The 2nd Battalion, having fought the war from beginning to end, were ordered into a reserve position after reaching its most easterly advance on November 9th, at a French village by the name of Sars-Poteries. There it remained unengaged until the fateful hour passed.

Though the First World War remains one of the most written about subjects in history, it is most often defined by only two words: trench warfare. While the Munsters' contribution to this the most memorable aspect of the war is well-documented, and names such as Ypres, The Somme and Paschendaele bring to mind the true horror of the static struggle, the mobile phases of the war remain the most obscured by time. It could be suggested, these few months of the conflict are like dramatic bookends holding together the war's more familiar volumes.

While the One Hundred Days Offensive could be described as the most decisive initiative of the whole war, to the 2nd RMF, my grandfather's battalion, the date of August, 27th, 1914 will forever reign among its most definitive.

Accordingly, on a plaque attached to the Etreux British Cemetery the following is inscribed:

'2nd Royal Munster Fusiliers at Etreux.'

'The action is likely to become the classical example of the performance of its functions by a rearguard. The Battalion not only held up the attack of a strong hostile force in its original position, thereby securing the unmolested withdrawal of its Division, but in retiring drew on to itself the attacks of very superior numbers of the enemy. It was finally cut off at Etreux by five or six times its numbers, but held out for several hours, the remnant only surrendering when their ammunition was practically exhausted and only a small number of men remained unhurt. The survivors were warmly congratulated by the Germans on the fine fight they had made. No other claim to a memorial near Etreux is likely to be advanced – certainly nothing which would not take second place to the Munsters.'

Furthermore, as far as the 2nd Battalions contribution to the Allied effort being victorious, a more comprehensive offering was never better made than by Lieutenant-Colonel H. S. Jervis, M.C., Late commanding 2nd Battalion Royal Munster Fusiliers. In concluding his account of the Munster's accomplishments in his own tome, 'The 2nd Munsters in France,' he wrote:

'The share of the Battalion in the campaign on the Western Front is in many respects unique. Landing with the Expeditionary Force, it was never out of earshot of the front line during the fifty-one months the war lasted. Thirteen times in the campaign it went into battle up to strength or nearly so; ten times it came out of action with less than 6 officers and 300 rank and file. Every time it was engaged it earned honourable mention for the efforts it made towards attaining its objective or for having achieved it completely. On five occasions it was surrounded by the enemy and cut off from all support; on four of these it cut its way through and joined up again; on the fifth it engaged an entire Army Corps of the enemy for over twelve hours. On seven different occasions it captured the objectives of adjacent units as well as its own. Its losses, as far as can be ascertained, amounted to 179 officers and 4,088 rank and file killed, wounded or missing.

During the war there were no less than twenty-eight changes in the Battalion Command, and thirteen different officers performed the duties of Adjutant. The Battalion from first to last was composed of voluntarily enlisted soldiers, and retained its essentially Irish character to the end of the war. The number of those who passed through its ranks during the war was 364 officers and over 8,000 rank and file.'

While the above account is enough to distinguish any regiment, it could be said the Royal Munster Fusilers' loyalty to the Crown was tested as much as any, quite possibly more than most. I am speaking, of course, of the Irish Brigade recruitment efforts undertaken at the Limburg Prisoner of War Camp in Germany.

The reason why this is noteworthy is that while the Munsters' colours were flown over several foreign countries, and under circumstances proving their loyalty beyond any doubt, in the end it would be on English soil where they would be lowered for the last time.

Having been caught between forces much greater than themselves, most notably the momentum from which independent nations emerge, when the Irish Free State was finally created in 1922, six of the eight Irish Regiments were deemed surplus to the new nation's requirements.

As a result, at St. Georges Hall, Windsor Castle, in July of the same year, the Royal Munster Fusiliers were disbanded... forever.

~

To those who passed through its ranks:

We will remember!

~

"The Kaiser knows the Munsters,

by the Shamrock on their caps,

And the famous Bengal Tiger, ever ready for a scrap,

And all his big battalions, Prussian Guards and grenadiers,

Fear to face the flashing bayonets of the Munster Fusiliers."

Afterword

~

First and foremost, I would like to extend my sincerest gratitude to you, the reader, for making time to read my story. I hope you found it as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write.

Indeed, 'Yes,' was the one word that captivated my attention and galvanized my thoughts towards a defined objective. And although it was my uncle's response to which I became committed, it remained a goal of mine throughout to present my grandfather's story within a wider context; that of his regiment, the Royal Munster Fusiliers, and the greater tragedy, the war itself. I was especially proud to relate the heroic achievements of the 2nd RMF within those first summer and autumn months, weeks within which, had my grandfather not become a Prisoner of War, I am certain he would not have survived Ypres, let alone the war, and this novel would never have been written. This reflection inspired my first dedication.

I believe the Royal Munster Fusilier's Association couldn't have been more insightful when they chose a quote from Thomas Campbell as their motto. 'To live in the hearts of those we leave behind is not to die.' The words seem more than fitting to me; they encapsulate a profound truth, a truth, which I was eager to embrace. Thus, it became the underlying theme of my novel.

I imagine it is an intrinsic fear of many writers; to pour one's self into something that few people read. And with World War One being one of the most written about subjects the world has ever witnessed, the desire to be original was made all the more poignant by a responsibility to create a compelling read, one which inspires remembrance, in the same way the Munster's motto defines our noblest of duties.

My grandfather did serve with the 1st RMF in India's North West Frontier for more than four years. And although the events depicted in those first chapters are a fictional account of what could have taken place, when I saw the word, 'India,' on my grandfather's military service record, so did an affection for the era romanticized by Rudyard Kipling ensure the inclusion of that posting.

Daniel Donoghue also returned to England prior to the outbreak of WW1, at which time he was recorded as occupying the ranks of the Reserves. He embarked for France with the B.E.F., was one of the 'Old Contemptibles,' fought and was captured at Etreux, and spent the next four years in prisoner of war camps Sennelager and Limburg. But that, I must admit, is essentially where the historical facts end and the fiction begins.

I often wondered if I would have to answer for prevailing too much upon the readers trust knowing that I would eventually have to admit that my grandfather never escaped from Limburg. And if you read on, I will explain how that aspect of the story became an important means to an end, how it enabled me to provide my uncle with his alternate ending. Daniel's 'Repatriation from Germany,' was, in fact, more consistent with Sully's.

In truth, my grandfather married my grandmother after the war, in the spring of 1919. And although I don't have any definitive proof to support my suspicions, I am often left to wonder if Mary didn't know Daniel before he left for France. Their first boy, Daniel, was born and died in the year 1920. My father came next, then my uncle, and as they grew up, so did my grandfather experience the rewarding life of husband and father, having transitioned into a career beyond the military. The birth of their fourth boy, however, began the most tragic year of their lives.

My grandmother, Mary, perished first. Her cause of death was recorded as 'Broncho pneumonia, congestion of the lungs.' The baby succumbed next, to 'Pulmonary Tuberculosis.' Sadly, after surviving more than most men are asked to endure, my grandfather, Daniel, was the third to die. It was under this terrible burden that my father and uncle were, as young boys, sent to the Marist Orphanage in the Cotswold Hills.

I still have a hard time imagining what that year must have been like. But as difficult as it must have been, I suppose it could have been much worse, had it not been for the Marist Sisters, and within their fold, a special Nun by the name of Sister Claudia. Nonetheless, it must have been a challenging existence. But if my father and uncle were ever daunted by their predicament, I am at a loss to recall much, if any narrative to that effect. I imagine to digress would not have been the English way. In truth, I think if there ever was a place from which to endure being orphaned, my father and uncle were blessed to be among those at Marist House.

It is often said that in order for a boy to become a productive and responsible man he needs a strong male role model. While I would agree with this statement, and therefore strongly weight the impact a father can have on his son, it would be remiss of me to suggest the Marist Nuns of Nympsfield had anything but a positive effect on my father, influencing the wonderful man whom I was privileged to call Dad.

Leaving the orphanage, at the age of fourteen, my father began his adult career in the factories of Gloucestershire. He carried on with this line of work and eventually became a machinist. As a result, he found himself relegated to the ranks of the 'Reserved Occupation' during World War Two. My Uncle David joined the Irish Guards and landed in France on D-Day+14. As stated in the Introduction, his regiment figured prominently in 'Operation Market Garden,' which formed the basis for the World War Two movie, 'A Bridge Too Far.' My Uncle David said it was a realistic depiction of what actually took place. His commanding officer, Colonel Vandelaugh, played by Michael Caine, was by strange coincidence, born in Nowshera, the same place in India to which my grandfather was once posted.

My father continued to correspond with Sister Claudia after leaving the orphanage in Nympsfield. I can remember him exchanging pictures and post cards with her when I was a young boy. This fact alone testifies to how young she really was during her time at Marist House. She eventually died in Ottery-Saint-Mary, Devon, and is buried there. I am told she always spoke with much affection for the children she cared for in Nympsfield.

~

Sister Claudia

~

Jimmy and Terry were my father and uncle's real-life friends at the orphanage. The Woodchester Mansion was one of their stomping grounds, and it remains to this day a partially completed building now protected by the Woodchester Trust. And, as eluded to in the story, the four boys eventually immigrated to Canada, doing so in 1947. They too stayed in touch with each other until in death they departed.

As far as the other characters are concerned, Father Murtaugh was one of the Priests at St. Joseph's in Nympsfield. Although Marist House employed Lay Nuns, I'm sorry to say Sister Margaret was fictional.

Those involved with the Irish Brigade at Limburg were real. Father Crotty did, in fact, minister to the spiritual needs of those at Limburg, and General Exner was, for some duration, the camp's commandant.

The story of Private Donovan, as recounted by a fellow Munster in Limburg, did actually take place. For his real-life efforts, he received the Military Medal. Also, Sergeant Foley was the Great Grandfather of Adrian Foley, one of the many friends I acquired as a result of my project.

Private John Gregg Shaw fought with the Canadian 29th Infantry Battalion at Vimy Ridge. He did leave the Royal Navy, and he joined the Canadian Army as depicted. He was also known to be quite a scrapper, but I must disclose the fact that he never became a P.o.W. I was happy to include his real-life story in mine, because his granddaughter became my wife. Wounded two weeks after Vimy, he subsequently returned to western Canada where upon he became a proud Canadian citizen.

Although many other characters are entirely fictional, the name 'Sully' is based on the man who, with regard to my research, was the first to point me in the right direction. His assistance was invaluable in piecing together the movements of my grandfather and his battalion. Thank you, again, to James Sullivan. I hope all are left reflecting that Sully represented the finest soldering qualities a friend could ever have. Likewise: Gerry, Roger, Collins, and the 'Chief.'

As far as how accurately My Kingdom follows the historical record, it was always was my sincerest intention to follow the facts as closely as possible, doing so while presenting them in an entertaining way. It is therefore very important to me to take this opportunity to set the record straight. For any omissions or inaccuracies, I alone take full responsibility. One manipulation worth mentioning, the 1st RMF was transferred from Nowshera to Burma in 1912. After being replaced by Territorial Battalions, they departed for England in November of 1914. As recounted herein, their baptism of fire occurred on the 25th of April, 1915, at V Beach, Gallipoli.

With regard to the Battle of Etreux, and the degree to which it became synonymous with my grandfather's regiment, I did my best to closely follow Captain Jervis's account of how that August day unfolded. His book, The 2nd Munsters in France, published after the war, was instrumental in guiding what I hope is a fairly accurate summation of the chapter his book dedicates to the battle. And if the honor associated with putting Jervis's firsthand account into my own words wasn't reward enough, a highpoint of the My Kingdom project occurred when I was privileged to attend a centennial event held in Etreux, France, on the 27th of August, 2014.

Needless to say, it was an emotional experience to stand on the very ground where the Battle of Etreux unfolded, where my grandfather was taken prisoner, and where the 2nd Munsters distinguished themselves beyond all expectation. I can't thank The Munster Fusilier's Association enough for asking me to place a wreath at the base of a cross dedicated to those interred in the Etreux British Cemetery.

My wife and I took part in ceremonies held throughout the day. We walked and drove through Etreux, Fesmy, as well as other villages through which the battle passed. At 9:15 pm, the moment the 2nd Battalion surrendered, we gathered again in the cemetery, bowing our heads in remembrance of what took place one hundred years ago to the day. For pictures of that event, please visit my website: michaelfdonoghue.com. You will also find photos of where my father grew up in Nympsfield as well as modern day scenes of where the Limburg Prisoner of War camp actually stood.

With regards to the 'My Kingdom' spiritual theme, while researching this aspect of the story I was heartened to come across a text from His Holiness, Pope Benedict XVI. He began his first encyclical letter to the faithful with three words: God is Love. And while I fully appreciate the depth of spirituality His Holiness leveraged when eloquently extolling that triumvirate, I hope I am never underwhelmed by its simplicity.

As far as my uncle David is concerned, and his appreciation for his alternate ending, he unfortunately died before he could read my completed manuscript. Fitting, as it was, he passed away in his sleep on the eve of Remembrance Day in 2009, his best suit having been laid out for the solemn events of the next day.

My father died of cancer long before my research began. Unfortunately, he and my uncle never knew very much about their father and mother, being orphaned so early in life. My uncle David was aware his father was a world war one veteran, having fought with the Royal Munster Fusiliers, but that's about the extent of his recollection. When my investigations revealed he had two unknown brothers, he was thrilled to know their names. Likewise, I believe the understanding of how his parents came to their end provided him with some closure before he passed. I know the newly found knowledge has had that effect on me.

In conclusion, I would suggest the Marist Sisters should be proud to know that for their entire lives my uncle and father remained devout Catholics, their local parishes extending St. Joseph's influence until the very end.

Finally, I was terribly sad when I was informed of my uncle's passing. As much as I like to think he would have enjoyed his alternate ending, I will forever take solace in the belief that he is not really gone, that his light has now joined mine. With my father, grandfather, and other loved ones, I am heartened to know they will live on within My Kingdom... forever.

For further information, please visit the websites to which I owe a debt of gratitude:

The Royal Munster Fusiliers Association  
www.rmfa92.org

The Great War Forum  
www.1914-1918.invisionzone.com

The Munster Fusiliers  
www.royalmunsterfusiliers.org

Irish Prisoners of War  
www.Irishbrigade.eu

The Woodchester Mansion  
www.woodchestermansion.org.uk

Marist Sisters of the UK  
www.maristsisters.org.uk/

The Limburg/Deitkirchen website  
www.limburg-dietkirchen.de/

For more pictures of the Limburg Camp as well as modern day photos of where the P.O.W. Camp actually stood, please visit: www.michaelfdonoghue.com
