1914 British Ace Read online

  I thought the salesman would object but he just shrugged. As he took me through the controls and pedals I knew why I had been chosen to go first. I would make all the mistakes and his lordship would learn from them. My speculation was ended when I sat behind the wheel and tried to make it go forwards. We bounced along the driveway like a mad rabbit. I nearly demolished one of the old statues which stood in the turning circle for the carriages. Everything seemed to happen too fast and it was so easy to make the engine cut out and then we would have to start it again. Starting involved the salesman leaping out and turning the starting handle. Stopping was not as easy as it looked either. When I had to use gears I thought that my head would explode. After an hour, however, both his lordship and the salesman were impressed. His lordship couldn’t wait to get behind the wheel.

  I was dismissed, “You go and stand over there by the Singer and watch!” If he thought he was going to impress me he was wrong; like me bounced along the drive and stalled it so often I thought the poor salesman would break his back starting it. His lordship managed to scrape the car next to a tree. I suspect the salesman was grateful it was not the new Singer. I found myself bored and, instead of watching I began to examine the Singer 10. The steering wheel was smaller but the gearstick was in the same place as were the pedals. It looked to be much smaller than the Crossley. I couldn’t see old Lord Burscough squeezing into it.

  Finally the car was driven by his lordship without mishap and he came to the Singer. The salesman wisely allowed his lordship to drive it alone. Perhaps he was overconfident, I don’t know, but the car leapt forward as though propelled from a cannon. He managed to stop it before he demolished the statue but I could see that he was shaken.

  “Are you sure there isn’t something wrong with the damned thing?”

  The salesman hid his smile well, “No sir. It just needs handling differently.”

  “William, you have a go. I’ll sit in the passenger seat.”

  I was terrified. If I wrecked this car then my new career could be over before it had even started. I just concentrated and tried to imagine that it was Caesar and not a mass of machinery. I barely moved my right foot and the vehicle moved slowly down the drive. The gears were actually easier to use and soon we were travelling quite quickly. I was aware that the main gates were looming up and I slowed down. There was a large turning circle at the end of the drive and I turned around.

  His lordship looked impressed. “How in God’s name did you manage to do that William?”

  “Concentrated sir and barely moved my right foot.” I took a breath, “Why not drive back sir? There’s no one around.”

  He flashed me a look to see if I was mocking him but my innocent face reassured him. “Very well.”

  I turned, in the passenger seat so that I could see what he was doing. I immediately spotted that he was not using his right foot for the brake and the accelerator. As soon as I pointed it out to him he began to drive more confidently. When he pulled the car up next to the Crossley he beamed at the salesman. “I have to say, old chap, that William here is a much better teacher than you are. However I am satisfied so come into the house and I will give you the cheque. William, familiarise yourself with the engine.”

  I had been dreading this part but I did as I was asked. The man who had driven the Crossley was standing nearby smoking a cigarette. I opened the bonnet and looked inside at the mass of tubes and machinery. “Excuse me, what does this do?”

  Fortunately he seemed an affable chap and he took me through the wires, pipes and pistons. He explained it quite simply and I picked the basic principles. I knew it would take me some time but I was confident that I could come to grips with this horseless carriage. I was hooked. The brief burst of speed had put Caesar’s gallop into the shade.

  By the time his lordship came out I had been given the manual for the vehicle. I would ask if I could read it. I didn’t think, for one moment, that his lordship would be bothered to read the tome.

  “So you’ll bring the other automobile at the end of the month. It has to be crimson; Lord Burscough loves the colour.”

  “Yes sir.”

  As the Crossley drove away he clapped me on the back. “His lordship doesn’t need to go into town. They will deliver here.”

  “But sir, how do you know he will like it?”

  “Oh he will like it. I asked for the one which looked the most like a carriage. This one has a separate compartment for you as the driver and it can seat five. He will like it.”

  And he did. He cared nothing about the workings of it but it was comfortable and it even had curtains for him to close for privacy. The first time I took him out in it I was almost shaking with fright. I needn’t have worried. The suspension was better than his best carriage and he had me drive him all the way around the estate. I had my new job and I was happy. I still got to ride Caesar with the Yeomanry. My duties as a driver were not arduous and I learned to understand both the Lanchester’s and the Singer’s engines. That proved to be advantageous for the young Lord Burscough did not understand simple ideas such as putting petrol in. As for making sure it had enough oil… suffice it to say I had to check both vehicles every morning and evening. It did result in a pay rise for me for both of them were happy. My father could not believe I was getting more money than him. He could not resist a dig at his two elder sons. “If them two daft buggers hadn’t gone off to the factories they could have had a nice little job like you and mother wouldn’t be all upset like she is.”

  He was right. The family at home were close but there was a void where my brothers had been. Life was good and I looked forward to 1914 with great optimism.

  Chapter 3

  The war got in the way of all of our plans. When the Balkan Wars began again the regiment believed that it was too far away to affect us. I felt that something was in the air when young Lord Burscough joined the Royal Flying Corps. The automobile had given him a taste for speed and he did not want to go back to horses. I liked speed but I still loved horses. We found that the air of unease led more men to join the Yeomanry. The increased numbers led to my promotion to corporal; although they used the term Artificer the NCOs would not use the title and so I was Corporal Harsker. Sergeant Armstrong was delighted but he still thought that I should have joined a regular regiment.

  When the Archduke was assassinated in June there was a noticeably tense atmosphere everywhere. The papers were full of talk of war. We knew that Germany had been building up a fleet and an army. As we sat around the table mother fretted away. “Why do we have to have all this talk of war? You can’t go into a shop without someone having an opinion.”

  Sarah shook her head. She had blossomed into a beautiful young woman and one of the deputy butlers, Rogers, had shown an interest in her. They were now engaged. A marriage would put them in a good position when Carter, the head butler retired; he was seventy and it showed. “Don’t worry mother. It’ll come to nothing. These politicians just like to talk. They are like a bunch of old women.”

  Albert looked disappointed. He was seventeen and worked in the gardens. He had green fingers. “I think we should go to war. Germany is getting too big for its boots. It’s time we showed them that we still rule the waves.”

  “All this talk of fighting. My brother Jack was killed in the Zulu wars. What good did that do us? We had to go to war a few years after with the Boers and the Zulu War was fought to help them. We should mind our own business.” Mother’s views were not to be gainsaid.

  My father was silent. I watched him as he finished his meal and placed his knife and fork on the cleaned plate. “I don’t want any British soldiers to get killed, not least of all young William here but you cannot let bullies get away with this sort of thing. If we stand up to Germany then they’ll back down. You mark my words.”

  Once father had given his views on any subject then mother would never argue with him. She might disagree but she would always back him up. She was as loyal a wife as a man could wish for. />
  Our new colonel, Colonel Mackenzie, arrived and he came like a whirlwind. He was only in his forties and, from his sun tan, had served in the tropics. We heard he had been in India and he was a fine horseman. We only found information second hand but one piece of information we had directly from his mouth was that we could expect to be mobilised by the middle of July. The married men began panicking about their families while the single ones like me were just excited. It seemed to us that this would be fun. We would swan over to France; rattle our sabres and then there would be peace again. It would be a lark.

  Sergeant Armstrong took me to one side. “A word to the wise; I think we will be on duty every weekend until we are mobilised. We are getting a shipment of ammunition next week and the new colonel is keen to give the troopers and the horses the experience of live firing.”

  That was an eye opener; live ammunition suggested they were taking things seriously. We did fire our guns but it was always at the practice range. I could not even remember firing when there had been a horse within four hundred yards. I wondered if that was a mistake. They would need acclimatising if we were going to war.

  We were too small a regiment to have different messes for sergeants and corporals and we shared one. Those who lived in the barracks all the time kept it well stocked. I liked to sit, nursing a pint of beer, and listen to the old sergeants talking. It was where you learned what was likely to happen.

  The Quartermaster Sergeant, Harry Grimes, was the oldest soldier we had and the most experienced. I had no idea of his age; one of the lads joked that he had been at Balaclava but I didn’t believe that for a moment. What he did have was authority. When he spoke then everyone, even Sergeant Armstrong listened.

  “You lads will have to make sure the troopers practice firing dismounted. We learned that fighting the Boers. It isn’t as easy as they might think. There’ll be no charges like Omdurman in this war. We also need a couple of sections training for the two machine guns we are getting next week.”

  The shock statement made everyone look at each other. Machine guns meant a fixed position and we had always believed we would be mobile. I turned to Sergeant Armstrong, “I don’t fancy that sarge.”

  “You are too good a horseman to waste you behind a static gun. I think that Major Harrison will impress on the colonel that we need to use the likes of you and your lads as scouts. Find the enemy, that will be your job.”

  “Someone said that we can’t serve outside Britain.”

  “And that is right but they are changing the law to allow it. To be honest it was always up to the colonel of the regiment or the Lord Lieutenant. They are happy for us to serve and so we probably shall.”

  “But where will the war be fought? Will they send us to the Balkans?”

  He swallowed some of his beer and shrugged, “I doubt it but it could be anywhere. Russia, Italy, Austria and even Turkey are all taking sides. It could be anywhere.” I must have looked worried for he smiled and said, “Listen son, it doesn’t matter where they send us; we just do our duty. It’s what the British soldier has done for years. The thin red line, the charge of the Light Brigade, Rorke’s Drift they are all places where British soldiers followed their orders and that’s what we will do.”

  He was right. The politicians might not be trustworthy but the generals were dependable and we could rely on them. Lord Kitchener and the others would make sure that we prevailed. If there was a war then I was sure that we would win.

  Mobilisation came sooner than thought; it was the second week of July. Our goodbyes had to be hurried. Because of my position I had to tell his lordship first. He was torn; he knew the regiment had to follow orders but he hated losing me.

  “I took the liberty, your lordship, of showing young Albert, my brother, how to drive. I am sure he could drive you when necessary.”

  Albert was delighted as it was a cleaner job and he received more money. Since my brothers had left I had become something of a hero to him. Sarah told me one night how he modelled himself on me. It was flattering but I was no hero. Dad was the hero. Still I knew that I had looked up to John right until the moment he had threatened the family. That was the reason I had used his opinion of me to make him into a driver; it might keep him safe. Mother was tearful. We only had two days to get ready and say our goodbyes. She kept wringing her hands every time she looked at me and her eyes were permanently puffy and red. It did not help when all of the newspapers were full of Balkan atrocities. It was not the Germans who worried my mother, after all they were related to our Royal Family, it was these other foreigners. The fact that they came from somewhere so far to the east also made her suspicious.

  “I might not even be going to the Balkans. We’ll probably just be sent to somewhere down south.”

  “And that is just as bad. I can’t abide southerners. You should stay here in Lancashire! You can trust northern folk.”

  The thought that the people in the south of Britain were somehow different to us made us all laugh and parting a little easier.

  Dad took me to the stables to pick up Caesar. “Just do your duty son, that’s all anyone can ever ask.” He patted Caesar affectionately, “And look after this old boy. He’s a good ‘un.” He shook my hand. We didn’t go in for hugs or great shows of affection. It wasn’t our way. “And try to write. Your mum would like that. I know you might not have time but you know women.”

  “Aye dad. I’ll be alright you know?”

  I could see him becoming a little upset himself and he just nodded and said, very quietly, “I know son but… well you best get off to the barracks then eh?”

  As soon as we were issued our kit we knew we were not going to sunny climes. It was the heavy woollen brown uniform which meant northern Europe. The orders were pinned up on the barracks wall; we were to take a troop train down to Kent and a holding area there. That was exciting and daunting at the same time. We knew that trying to get horses into a train would not be easy.

  My section was made up of good lads. I was lucky in that they were all troopers who worked with horses and had all grown up around Burscough. There were others in the regiment who could ride but mine happened to be the ones who worked and cared for horses. It made life easier. Thus it came about that Major Harrison designated us to be the ones to travel with the horses. The boys complained but secretly they were pleased to have been chosen. It made them seem special. I split the section up so that there were two of three of us with every two horseboxes. It would be an eight hour journey so we had plenty of water. We also made sure that we had shovels. Horses were messy enough as it was, a rocking railway carriage would do nothing to settle them.

  I had the Brown boys with me. I knew them well; they worked on the estate farm next to our cottage. They were dependable. Their conversation left a little to be desired; they were mainly interested in chasing women and girls. They had not had much success but it didn’t stop them buying every new hair product which came on to the market. They were convinced that the right combination of oil and perfume smeared on their heads would draw women like moths to a flame. It amused me. The other reason I liked them was that they were good singers and singing kept the horses calm. As we left Burscough Station the horses started to become agitated.

  “Come on lads, give us a song. Send them to sleep.”

  Although they were in different carriages we had the adjoining doors open so that they could hear each other. Doddy hummed the opening and his brother joined in. They chose a lilting Irish melody. Soon every man in my section was singing.

  Oh, Danny Boy the pipes are calling

  From glen to glen, and down the mountain side,

  The summer's gone and all the roses falling,

  It's you, it's 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.

  It's I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow,

  Oh, Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy, I love you son!

&n
bsp; 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 fine the place where I am lying,

  And kneel and say an A-ve there for me;

  And I shall hear though soft you tread above me,

  And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,

  For you will bend and tell me that you love me,

  And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!

  The effect on the horses was nothing short of miraculous. Soon every horse was chewing happily from their nosebags. The boys all enjoyed the singing. Doddy and Tiny knew many songs and they even sang a couple of the newer songs. Those were sung just by the two of them but, as the others listened and learned the words they joined in too.

  Up to mighty London came an Irishman one day,

  As the streets are paved with gold, sure ev'ryone 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 Picadilly,

  Farewell, Leicester Square,

  It's a long, long way to Tipperary,

  But my heart's right there!"

  Paddy wrote a letter to his Irish Molly O',

  Saying, "Should you not receive it, write and let me know!

  "If I make mistakes in "spelling," Molly dear," said he,

  "Remember it's the pen that's bad, don't lay the blame on me"

  "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 Picadilly,

  Farewell, Leicester Square,

  It's a long, long way to Tipperary,