1914 (British Ace) (2 page)

During one of the obligatory training weekends, luckily held on the estate, we had competitions.  I won two of them: the long distance race and the steeplechase around the estate. While other horses baulked at, even the smallest fences, Caesar soared over them without blinking. I was really proud to win those two cups.  They were not enormous and they were not valuable but to me and my family they were the highest accolade anyone had ever received.  That day changed me. I decided I would knuckle down and become the best trooper in the regiment.

The troop sergeants, especially, Sergeant Armstrong, were not only amazed but pleased.  The old grey haired sergeant who had charged at Omdurman took me to one side.  “You know, lad, you could join a regular regiment and do this full time.” He waved a deprecatory hand around the others.  “Most of these are just fannying around and will never make cavalrymen.  You can ride and this change in attitude is impressive.”

I was flattered but I knew it was not for me. “You see, Sergeant Armstrong, I am going to be a groom here on the estate, just like my dad.”

“That is admirable in many ways, son, but there is a whole world out there and it looks b
etter from the back of a horse.” He could see I was not convinced. “Well, keep on doing what you are doing and you’ll soon get a promotion.”

I did as he said.  I became an expert with the
Short Magazine Lee Enfield with which we were issued.  I confess I was never much good with the sword they gave us but I became known as the best shot in our squadron. I was proud of that too.

When John and Tom came home that Christmas in 1912
, the peace of the home was shattered.  There had been order in the house.  We all knew our places and got on well with each other.  My younger sisters, Alice and Kathleen were preparing for a life of work and Albert was dreaming of the day  he would leave school. There was balance. It ended the day my two brothers came home for Christmas.

I think I blamed myself. My mother insisted that I wear my uniform for Christmas dinner.  That did not please Tom and John. It caused bitter comments.  It was not helped by the fact that the two of them took themselves off to the Blacksmith’s Arms for a drink which turned into a two hour drinking session.  They arrived back barely in time for the dinner.  Mother
had been given a fine goose by Lord Burscough that year. She lavished much attention on it. Fortunately it was not ruined although in light of subsequent events it might have been. There were rules in our house and one of them was that when mother said dinner was ready then you were at the table.  We all adhered to that rule.

When they had left for the pub I was dressed in my ordinary clothes.  Mother told me to get changed when she took the goose out of the oven. 
She was keen to make the occasion a special one.  All of her chicks were home. My three sisters oohed and aahed when I came down the stairs. I just blushed.  I was not used to the attention.

“Eeh our Bill, what a handsome one you are.”

“If you go down to the village tonight you’ll have to beat the lasses off with a stick.”

“Look at the shine on those buttons.”

I saw a tear in my mother’s eye and she came and gave me a hug. “I’m right proud of you son.”

Young Bert, just fourteen y
ears old looked wistfully at the uniform which was bright and colourful and unlike the drab grey and brown clothes everyone else wore.  The red jacket had barely been worn and there was no sign of fading.  I knew, from Sergeant Armstrong’s uniform, that the red soon faded to a rusty colour.  It was a sign of service, but mine had only been worn a handful of times.

Even my father, sat in his armchair by the fire with his pipe puffing away looked impressed.
He was proud of me as a horseman and now he was proud of me as a soldier. He had worn the same uniform in Africa.  He understood what it was to be a cavalryman. He had served with Lord Burscough and he valued the red tunic. I couldn’t wait for Tom and John to come home and see me.

The goose had just been placed on the table when we heard them coming up the lane. They were singing some rude ditty and I saw my mother frown.  She hated smut of any description.  That should have been a warning, I suppose, of the storm that was about to break.

We were all smiling when they entered but they took one look at me and their faces turned to scowls. “Who the bloody hell is this? General Lord bloody Kitchener?” It was not banter and not intended as humour. It was an insult.

Mother pointed the carving knife at Tom and said, “Language! This is Christmas Day!”

John ignored the warning in mother’s tone, “All dressed up like a dog’s dinner.  Mister La-di-da Fancy Pants!”

I felt stupid and I muttered, “Mother thought I should wear it.”

“Aye well it’s blokes like you that keeps us working men down.  It’s time the likes of you and his lordship who oppress the working man were thrown out on their ear once and for all.”

“You are right John and one of these days we’ll have a revolution and their days will be over!”
Tom always agreed with his big brother.

Mother looked shocked but I could see that dad was furious.  You did not attack the upper classes in his earshot.
Neither did you insult the red uniform he had worn with pride. He was, like me, more than happy with the status quo. He stood and tapped his pipe out on the fireplace. He glared at his two sons.  In the silence which followed I could suddenly smell the beer on them and their clothes.  They were drunk. I had never ever seen dad drunk and this would be another reason for his anger.

“Now you two listen to me.  You are my sons
; my flesh and blood. You are welcome under this roof.  But if you express sentiments like that again I shall not have you here.  Do you understand me? And I will not have bad language in front of the ladies.  You should apologise now and then sit down so that we can get on with celebrating this special day.”

This was the point at which they should have nodded, apologised and sat down.  The old Tom and John would have done so but these were not the same brothers who had gone off to Manchester. John put his face in my father’s and said, “This is a free country despite what your precious Lord Bloody Burscough would have us think.  An Englishman can express his views and there’s nowt you can do about it!”

I saw tears coursing down my mother’s cheeks.  Our Sarah was bright red and clenching her fists.  Poor Albert didn’t know where to look. I stood next to my father.  My brothers were bigger but if it came to blows then I would stand shoulder to shoulder with dad.

Dad nodded, went to the door and opened it.  “There’s the door.  Either you apologise and sit at the table or leave and never come back.”

I am not sure if John intended to hit dad or if he just lost his balance but he put his arm out and caught dad on the chin.  I just reacted.  I was a strong lad and could use my fists and I was sober. I spun John around and then hit him an uppercut. More by luck than anything else, he fell backwards out of the open door.

Tom snarled, “You little toe rag!”

He put his hand on my shoulder. I turned and hit him hard in the solar plexus with my right hand.  He was not as fit as he had been; he smoked too much and he was drunk. He doubled up.  Our Sarah had had enough too and she put everything she had into a blow to his chin so that he ended up lying on top of his brother.
Mother went to dad, “Are you hurt?”

I could see he was not but he was shocked. “I can’t believe it! They hit me! If I had done that to my dad….”

Mother dabbed her eye, “Well the fact of the matter is you wouldn’t have, nor would Bill or Bert.  It’s that town that’s done it.  I don’t recognise them!”

Kathleen and Alice had been shocked too and they now went and f
illed two pails with cold water, throwing the contents on the two brothers.  They spluttered and looked up at them. The girls put down their pails and picked up a pan and a rolling pin from the kitchen cupboard. Our Alice had a sharp tongue on her. “And if you try anything again I have a rolling pin and our Kath has a frying pan.  Now clear off. You aren’t my brothers anymore.”

The
y both staggered to their feet and glowered belligerently at the girls but when they saw the weapons in their hands then discretion took over and they both stormed off.  John turned and roared, “You can keep your poxy goose too.  If I ever catch you on your own our Bill, I’ll give you the hiding of your life.”

I was not worried about John now.  I had stood up to him and won. I just shook my head and turned back into the cottage.
As the door closed it was like the end of a way of life. My parents were never the same after that.  The five children who remained became closer and John and Tom were like strangers to us.

I don’t think either of them intended to cause such distress and to ruin Christmas Day and I cursed the fact that I had triggered the conflict
, well my uniform had.  I didn’t realise until that moment the power it had.

That was not the end of it, of course.
Fate has a way of throwing you into situations you could not possibly imagine. The regiment was called up in March of the next year and ordered to ride to Manchester where workers were rioting. Major Harrison was in command and he made sure that none of us had live ammunition in our guns. He was a teacher, normally, and most of the men called him ‘Uncle’, affectionately. His calm demeanour was matched with an iron discipline.  Most of the troopers, me included, had been in his class when we had been schoolboys. He did not have to work at discipline, he had it naturally. He addressed us before we left.

“Men, we will need great self control today.  These rioters will try to intimidate you.  Do not let them.  You have li
ve ammunition in your bandoliers but I do not want us to use it.  Today we will use our horses to control them.  These workers are misguided that is all.”

I rode next to Sergeant Armstrong and just behind Lieutenant Burscough.
The veteran turned to me. “The Major might be right, son, but be under no illusions, there will be some nasty pieces of work out there.  They might try to hurt your horse so watch out.”

I was appalled.  I was happy enough for me to be hurt but not Caesar.  If anyone tried they would have me to deal with.

The streets leading to the square where the rally was being held was congested.  As we rode along I could see policemen, some of them bleeding and hurt, being carried away on stretchers. Eventually we came to a thin line of blue and the Chief Constable, in all his finery, was there.  He had a very serious look on his face.

“A
h Major, thank God you have arrived! They have been throwing bottles at my chaps.  Perhaps your guns can sort them out.”

I was close enough to hear the conversation.  “No sir.  My men will not fire.”

“But I have read the Riot Act!” He seemed to think that the simple reading of a document would allow us to shoot on our fellow men.

“Well sir, wh
at would you like us to do?” The policeman looked confused. Major Harrison was used to explaining things to boys and he sighed. “What will make the situation calm sir?”

“I need those workers moving out of the square and for them to go home.”

That seemed to satisfy the major. “Thank you sir, now leave it to us.” He turned to Lieutenant Burscough, “I want us to make an arrow behind me.  You and the sergeant and then three more and so on.  Just follow me and have the men keep their hands to themselves.  We do not want to provoke them. We will use the horses to force them from the square. When I give the command we spread out in a single line.”

Although the order had been given to the lieutenant it was the sergeant who organised it. I found myself behind the lieutenant with Doddy Brown next to me and, on his other side his brother Tiny. They were both farm workers
from the estate and so big they made me look small. All three of us had the biggest horses in the regiment and I could see why the sergeant had placed us where he had. He wanted us to frighten the rioters.

When we were in position he said, “Move slowly forward and wait for me to signal halt. Forward!”

We moved towards the mass of humanity.  They had been drinking and there were crudely drawn placards.  They had the same sentiments as those espoused by my brothers.  When we were thirty yards from them he held up his hand and every rider stopped instantly.  I had to admit it was impressive.

The major used the voice which could still a school yard full of boisterous children and it worked on the rioters too. “Gentlemen, you have all been read the Riot Act and asked to disperse. I ask you to comply with these instructions.”

One large rioter stepped forwards.  I saw he had a cudgel in his hand. “Or what, soldier boy?”

I could hear the smile in his voice as the teacher said calmly, “Or we shall move forwards and shift you,” he paused, “forcibly.” I saw him nudge his horse forward and he leaned down to speak with the man.  I was still close enough to hear his words. “And if anyone offers us violence then
, I have to say, that my men are not policemen, they are soldiers and unlike the police, we are armed.” He sat upright in the saddle and said loud enough for all to hear, “However that is your choice and your decision.” He turned and waved his right arm, “Lancashire Yeomanry, forward.”