Page 87 of These Old Lies
Once they had reached the heart of the memorial, standing under the main arches, Charlie spoke. “The names are listed by regiment in alphabetical order, which means that his name should be right around…”
“Here.” Ned’s voice was tight as he looked up midway on one of the pillars.
“Second Lieutenant Francis Arthur Pinsent,” Charlie read out. The second son of Viscount Alexander and Lady Emily Pinsent of Heyworth, the only brother of Lieutenant Edmund Pinsent. The namesake for Charlie’s own beloved son.
How could such a short set of letters, carved with seventy thousand other names, ever reflect the brother and son that had been lost? Was this government acknowledgment better than the metal plaque of a charging knight in a fake Norman church?
“To whom the fortune of war denied the known and honoured burial given to their comrades in death,” Ned quoted the massive inscription on the front of the memorial, which had been recited over and over throughout the day. “Mother will be pleased. A proper marker after almost twenty years.”
They were completely alone now, but Charlie wasn’t going to rush Ned. They would stand there as long as Ned needed.
The rain had petered out and, for the second day in a row, the sun was starting to come out. The bright sun hitting the damp stone made the world feel fresh and renewed. Charlie reached out to run his fingers over a few of the inscribed names. He didn’t bother looking for familiar names. They were all his comrades.
“I can’t put it out of my mind.” Oh God, Ned was going to ask about last night. “Did you take field punishment from Pemberton to protect me?” Ned’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Charlie’s heart stopped. How was this question even worse? He knew, the same way he knew when to dodge a punch, that this conversation wouldn’t lead anywhere good.
Ned—determined, focused, brilliant Ned—continued, “What Pemberton said at the pub, it didn’t make any sense. Until I was sitting alone in the hotel last night and I remembered just how far you would hurt yourself to protect those you care about.”
This was the conversation he and Ned had been avoiding since meeting in the hat shop in 1923. Perhaps this was the tribute that Thiepval Gate demanded, a baring of the souls for this condemned ground.
So Charlie spoke, “Pemberton suspected you of gross indecency. Tried toget me to turn snitch. Sent me to the front to let me dangle when I wouldn’t.”
Ned’s face turned to thunder. “That utter bastard. You shouldn’t have taken punishment. It should have been me.”
“Now here!” Charlie cut Ned off sharply, his words echoing off the giant pillars of stone that surrounded them. Charlie had made his fair share of mistakes, but Ned could take this noble self-sacrifice attitude and shove it up his arse. “I had my hand around your cock just as much as you’d your hand on mine. That you treated me as an equal when we were together in those dugouts meant something to me. The memory of it means something to me now. I wasn’t going to cower behind you and let you take all the consequences.”
“You weren’t the same after those three weeks in Leuze Wood. You drank, you couldn’t sleep, you tried to, you…” Ned couldn’t finish the sentence, shifting to look out towards the fields. “All because you protected me.”
Charlie didn’t know if he wanted to punch Ned or laugh at him. After all these years, Ned still couldn’t bring himself to utter the words. Couldn’t say that Charlie had tried to off himself. “I didn’t slit my wrists because of my memories of being a stretcher bearer, you fool. I slit them because I couldn’t face being a regular Tommy anymore. The only meaningful thing I did the whole war were those three weeks of field punishment.”
Ned’s voice cracked with emotion when he finally spoke. “How could you, Charlie? How could you have left me alone like that? For God’s sake, why couldn’t you have come to me? You abandoned me!”
Oh God. Charlie’s knees nearly buckled at the pain in Ned’s voice.
“I didn’t know how to love in the trenches. You were a golden-boy officer with a future, and I was a washed-up soldier whose only skill was killing people. I was coming apart with what I had done. I only knew I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”
Charlie stepped forward, so close that he could have embraced Ned if he had dared. “Did I ever thank you for saving my life? That’s what I choose to remember about that day. I don’t think about why I refused to retreat, but rather that in my darkest moment, you saved me. Every good moment is a gift that you gave me. When I bring tears of laughter to my sisters’ faces. My children’s eyes. Exhaustion after a long day’s work. All of it is you, and I’llnever forget it.”
“You saved me just as many times.” Charlie was startled to see the glimmer of wet streaks down Ned’s face. “You kept me whole.”
Then something caught the corner of Ned’s eye and he quickly brushed away his tears. A half dozen men stood at the foot of the memorial, clearly waiting for someone important. For Ned.
Charlie cleared his throat. “Go. You’re needed.”
Charlie could feel the other man draw himself into what Charlie remembered as his officer stance. Shoulders back, chest out, head held high. The mask of the expected gentleman that Ned forced himself to wear when his emotions were near the surface. Ned started down the steps, then stopped and turned back to Charlie. “Thank you for being with me today. In all the war took from me, it also gave me an exceptional friend.”
The words hit Charlie like a gut punch, and any response stuck in his throat. Instead Charlie met Ned’s eyes, with all their blues, greens, and golds. Ned nodded in response, understanding all that Charlie couldn’t say.
Ned walked down the steps, growing smaller and smaller before he disappeared into the crowd.
Charlie let himself wander around the pillars. He had likely already missed most of the cars back to Arras. What did it matter if he stayed up here a bit longer?
He faced the fields again. Waves and waves of grain. John Henderson’s grave was out there somewhere. Charlie had helped dig the grave himself.
He’d asked Betty about going to see John on this trip and she’d gone quiet for a moment before saying that her John wasn’t to be found beneath any white stone. He was with her when she walked in Regent’s Park, made his favourite stew, and re-read his letters.
Charlie couldn’t begrudge John and Betty their love. Perhaps because of his own lost love, Charlie never thought that his life with Betty was any less because she had shared her heart with someone else.