Page 76 of These Old Lies

London, December 1941 / Ned

In the past six months, Ned had learned that if there was a downside to having Charlie as a lover again, it was that it took him even longer in the mornings to get himself out of bed and into work. This Monday was particularly egregious after a lazy session of lovemaking with Charlie in the early hours of the day, and Ned tried to ignore the pointed glance Miss Forbes made to the clock when he entered their office.

“Morning, Mr Pinsent.”

“Morning, Miss Forbes.” Ned hung his overcoat on the coat stand. A teapot was already sitting on his desk beside a white teacup. “I missed the tea ladies already?”

“You ask for your tea steeped so strongly that they brew it the night before,” Miss Forbes responded, following him into his office with a worryingly large stack of papers that made him feel like a schoolboy about to be assigned his lessons.

Unlike other secretaries, Miss Forbes left Ned to his own devices when it came to pouring his own tea, so while he sorted out his cup, she ran through the day’s tasks. “These are the reports from the War Office, the Foreign Office and the Ministry of Information that you requested. The middle folder includes the new rationing recommendations, which you are going to want to read yourself. The papers on the bottom are the latest draft for the National Service Act extension, but frankly nothing worth your time there.”

Ned arbitrarily flipped one of the files open, not really reading thecontents on the neatly typed sheets. “I agree the extension will pass without any help from us.” He looked up at her. “I’m going to have to enlist, aren’t I?”

Miss Forbes didn’t pause from taking notes on a small notepad. “The papers are already drawn up and ready for your signature.”

“They used to burn women like you as witches, you know.”

She pursed her lips, but Ned would swear that there might have been a smile. He expected her to leave him to his reports, but instead she ploughed ahead and said, “There is also the service record you asked for.”

“Thank you. Faster than I expected.” Ned took a sip of his tea to cover the shake in his voice.

He managed to stutter his way through the rest of their morning chat, but the door wasn’t even closed before he had pulled out the ragged manila folder and was flipping through the first pages.

Ned had no professional reason to request Charlie’s military records. Personally, he couldn’t help but worry about what raising the age of conscription would mean for his lover. There were tribunals conscientious for objectors to ask for exemptions, but they were unpredictable. As well as likely to take into account past service.

The enlistment papers were as expected. Height: 5’6”. Eyes: Blue. Address: 151 Edge Lane, Marylebone. Training from September 1914 to October 1914. Arrival in Flanders: 4 November 1914.

Service records included his lengthy list of infractions, but also his citations. The Military Cross for gallantry. Mentioned in the dispatches, three, no five, times, including as a driver in the motor pool. Ned hadn’t known that.

As he reached the end of the slim file, Ned’s shoulders began to relax.

Then he turned to the last page—on a thicker paper, not the thin War Office sheets. A letter dated August 1932.

Dear Sir,

I recently attended a gathering of old soldiers in France to celebrate the opening of the memorial to the Somme and commemorate those lost for King and Country.

While there, a suspicion I have long harboured was confirmed; a stain on that very sacrifice.

In May 1917, I was serving as the lieutenant for the London Scottish Regiment outside of the Somme. The offensive had not gone our way, and I called out the order to retreat. One of my men refused this order, a Corporal Charles Villiers. Later that night I was informed he returned injured to the dressing station, and when I visited him the marks of self-harm on his wrists were evident. Before I could seek charges of treason and abandonment of post, Corporal Villiers was reassigned to the motor pool.

I believe that Corporal Villiers deliberately put his section and our battle plans at risk in order to injure himself and be removed from the front. Worse, I believe he debased himself in the worst way to secure this removal. I am ashamed to write that I said nothing at the time, fearing the powers that had clearly intervened to protect him.

Despite the years that have passed, I couldn’t in good conscience let this go unpunished. I am at your disposal to discuss further.

Cordially,

Mr Bernard Pemberton (Lt, ret’d)

Bugger and damnation. Ned slammed his hands down on his desk, not caring who heard his anger.

There was no surprise that a letter of gossip like this was ignored in ’32. But now? It would sink any application for objector status.

Ned opened the bottom drawer of his desk and dropped in Charlie’s file. He would come up with a solution for this, and for the meantime he was the only person with a copy.

He hoped.

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