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123 pages

English

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Thomas becomes disillusioned with the war on the Western Front - where he endures boredom, lice, mud, shells, lack of food, a scarcity of ammunition, and the mass slaughter of 'over the top' assaults. Having been wounded rescuing a comrade, he returns to England.In a conversation with Lord Overbury, his pre-war employer and Colonel of the London Rifle Regiment, Thomas poses the possibility of undertaking a covert operation behind enemy lines in order to attack ammunition depots and armaments factories. His vision is to do this in a daring raid aboard a boat travelling along the River Rhine. Against all odds, approval is given and a special group is selected to prepare for the mission.Thomas had been born into poverty but after losing his parents, his job and home, a quirk of fate brings him to the estate of Lord Overbury and his daughter, Lady Clarissa. Crossing the class divide, a friendship develops between Thomas and Clarissa - as well as between Thomas and the cook's daughter, Rosie. Rosie's deceased father was German and it is she who teaches Thomas to speak the language.Clarissa becomes a nurse on the front line. When the covert operation takes place, she goes along as the group's nurse, with Rosie also onboard as cook and German speaker. The drama unfolds, leaving in its wake success, love, death - and the inevitable question... was it all worth while?

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Historical fiction

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Publié par	eBook Versions
Date de parution	10 septembre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781843963196
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

First published 2014 by Welham Books

Copyright © 2014 Mike Welham
All rights reserved

Mike Welham has asserted his right
under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988 be identified as the author
of this work

Author s website
www.welhambooks.com

ISBN 978-1-84396-319-6

Also available in paperback
ISBN 978-150857-801-7

This book is a work of fiction and
all characters and/or organisations and
events appearing in this work are the
product of the author s imagination;
any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Ebook production by
eBook Versions
27 Old Gloucester Street
London WC1N 3AX
www.ebookversions.com
THOMAS

A First World War Story
of Great Compassion and Courage
that Crosses the Class Divide

Mike Welham

WELHAM BOOKS
Contents

Cover
Copyright Credits
Title Page

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five

Also published
To be published in 2015
1

A death and a chance encounter would transform the life of Thomas Pierce, who had been born into a life of poverty. But right now, the sun was lowering on the horizon, signalling the end of another day. He was striding out to make the journey home, having endured long hours of hard labour. In truth it was not the hard work that bothered him, but more that it was the never-ending toil of drudgery, day after day, with no visible prospect of improving his lot. Many just accepted the situation, but Thomas was not like that. He expected a fair day s pay for a good day s work, however many landowners just exploited people through fear. Following the death of his mother, Thomas had been raised, from an early age, by his father who had no idea of what to do; that had been a hardship of a different type. His father worked on the land and was not well paid, but between the two of them, they were able to survive; that is, until his father took to drink. The demands on their income moved from providing food to supporting the local ale-house. The more pressing problem was that his father was behind in the rent: Sir Harry Calthrope, both employer and owner of the cottage where they lived, was fast running out of patience, of which he had very little in the first place.
Thomas had in some ways been very lucky. At school, his teacher Miss Acton had feelings for Thomas s father and had tried to enter his life through Thomas. But by the time he left school, she had realised that it was a lost cause and gave up; at least Thomas had gained a better education than most. Now a strapping good-looking, fair-haired and blue-eyed young man, Thomas pondered, as he walked, the prospects of having any sort of a meal that evening. Fortunately one of the farm-worker s wives had provided him with a meal at midday and he had made the most of it. The woman had smiled as she watched him take his fill; this gave him some comfort for the remainder of the day.
As he approached the tied cottage, one of six cottages set in a row, he noticed people gathered at the front door. His walking pace picked up until he reached the path leading to the front door. A neighbour walked down it to meet him.
What s going on, Mr Sayer? asked Thomas.
Thomas, you have to be strong. There has been an accident; we brought your father home. He got caught up in some farm machinery. He s in a very bad way. We don t think he will last the night. As far as we can tell, there s no money in the house for the doctor so he has not been called, said Sayer.
Thomas felt no great love for his father nor, in particular, for his drinking habit that had squandered what little money they had. Now, when they really needed it, there was none.
Thank you for bringing him home, Mr Sayer.
Sayer moved to one side, allowing Thomas to enter. At the door to his father s bedroom, he looked in and saw locals doing what they could to tend the broken mess that had once been the man who was his father. A local woman, who usually attended births, was bandaging wounds that immediately soaked the cloth being used, staining them red. Thomas knew that the battle for life was lost. It was confirmed when the woman looked up at him and shook her head. His father had died.
He s gone, Thomas, said the woman.
Thomas nodded. Thank you for what you did. He then looked at the others in the tiny room. Thank you all.
Everybody left the room and went downstairs.
We will tell the vicar, said Sayer.
I ve no money for a funeral, said Thomas.
He will be buried, but it will be a pauper s burial, said Sayer.
People began to leave. There was little they could do. Sayer s wife told Thomas to come to their cottage for a meal; things could be sorted out in the morning.
He was grateful and accepted the offer. It was difficult for him as he could not find any kind words for the man, his father, lying dead two cottages away. The food was a welcome respite and he tucked into his second meal of the day.
Sayer attempted to explain what had happened:
The machine needed repairs but the master would not get it done. A waste of money, he had stated. It still works. They had all known that it was just a matter of time - and who would be on the receiving end.
Thank you, Mr Sayer, but talking about it does not help. The machine just killed him before the drink did.
They all focused on eating.
When they had finished, Thomas thanked them and walked back to his cottage. A million thoughts flashed through his head. How would he pay the rent on his meagre labourer s earnings? Would Calthrope allow him to stay on? Should he move away? Where would he go? All were questions that would in time be answered. He had to deal with the here and now.
In the cottage he lit the downstairs lamps. Staring at the stairs, he reflected on the fact that his father was upstairs, not drunk this time but dead. He sat in what was the most comfortable chair and closed his eyes. When he opened them, it was approaching daylight. He stood and moved his cramped body, having slept in the chair. His first thought was to rush off to work, but he had been told that the vicar would arrange for the body to be collected. Sayer would explain his absence from work.
He made a cup of tea and ate the last piece of bread, which was hard work as it had become stale. The only solution was to dunk it in the tea and allow it to soak. He heard the horse and wagon arrive, then two men came to the front door. He recognised both of them from the village.
Morning, Thomas, said one. We have come for your father.
He s upstairs, he said, leading the way.
The two men pulled the blankets round the body and used them to lift it. Manoeuvring to the door and onto the landing, one man went down first, holding the legs. The more powerful of the two carried the torso. They began the descent. Thomas followed. Outside, they carried the body to the wagon and placed it on the back.
You had better come with us, said one.
Thomas collected his jacket and cap and climbed up into the wagon. With the two men up front, they began the journey to the village. Thomas was lost in the world of the countryside as they passed it by; in the village he vaguely noticed people looking. When the wagon reached the graveyard adjoining the church, the vicar was waiting.
Good morning, Thomas, said the Vicar. We are sorry for your loss. The passing of a family member is always tragic.
Thank you, sir, replied Thomas.
He nodded. We have found him a small place in the graveyard.
The two men lifted the body from the wagon and carried it to a quiet corner set aside for those who were unable to pay. Thomas noted that somebody had already dug the grave. When they reached it, the body was laid down. One of the men jumped down into the grave. The two men then manhandled the body into the bottom where it was straightened out as best as possible; then, with help, the man in the grave scrambled out. The vicar said a few words before indicating to the grave-digger to fill the hole. A lifetime was ended in a matter of minutes. The vicar wished Thomas well for the future and departed. The two men returned to the wagon to continue their working day. Thomas stood for some time, watching the grave-digger at work; then he left the place where two small mounds of earth were all that signified the location of his parents final resting-place.
Passing through the village, a number of people expressed their sympathy. None offered anything constructive. The long walk home was not unpleasant and he was thankful that it was not raining. Reaching the row of cottages, he headed for the one he called home. Once inside, he made a drink then set about removing the remainder of his father s bedding. He took it outside into the back garden. Others grew vegetables, but only wild grass grew in theirs. He put it in a pile clear of the building. He made several journeys, collecting clothes that were fit for no other purpose than burning. The fire was doing his clean-up and he stood poking it with a stick, moving items to the strongest flames. The mattress, which had been soaked with blood, almost smothered the flames; but he kept the fire going until the flames took control. He had finished clearing the items from within the cottage and was checking the small front garden for any unwanted items that would burn.
There was no mistaking the noise of a horse at the gallop. He stopped what he was doing and looked up. He needed no introduction to the rider, Sir Henry Calthrope. The horse was brought to an abrupt stop close by the garden gate. Foam ringed its mouth and its eyes bulged,