Dear Mother, France, 2 January 1915
I am writing to thank you for the latest parcel which you sent me. The chocolate, biscuits and tobacco were very comforting and some of my comrades were very jealous!
The trench foot which I was suffering from is almost cured thanks to the treatment which the docs gave me and apart from that my health has been good. The rain stopped yesterday after falling for almost a week. What a relief that was.
I wish my home leave was coming up soon but the Sergeant says we’ll not be coming home for at least another six months. It doesn’t stop me dreaming about being back in Scotland.
I hope you are looking after yourself and the twins are still happy working in the brewery. They are much better off there.
I promise to write again soon.
Your loving son, David
Sitting upright in a threadbare armchair with a hangdog expression on her face, Susan reads the letter for the umpteenth time. The comment about the twins troubles her. David’s last two letters had been heavily censored, with long passages struck out in black, no doubt hiding the reality of war.
She looks up and watches Kenneth pulling a blue jumper over his head covering his muscular frame. When his chestnut mop emerges, she addresses him.
“Are you packed now?” The lines on her face belong to someone much older than her thirty eight years.
“Yes, Mother.” His blue eyes gaze at her. “We can’t take many personal things with us.”
“I’m bringing my lucky rabbit’s foot,” says Donald from the other side of the room where the damp stains are visible on the anaglypta. “It might come in handy.” He’s a bit shorter than his twin but shares the same Roman nose and powerful build.
“You can still change your minds,” she pleas. “There is no need for you to go.”
“Our minds are made up, Mother,” says Kenneth. ”We’ve passed the medical and promised to report for duty at Leith Town Hall early tomorrow. We can’t go back on our word.” He shakes his head.
“He’s right. You taught us to keep our promises.” Donald’s eyes are a lighter shade of blue.
Her face falls.
“But until you swear the oath of allegiance to the King you can change your minds. I’m already anxious about your brother and don’t want to be spending the months and years ahead worrying about you as well. If your father was still alive, he’d have made you see sense.”
“There’s no need to worry. We’re old enough to look after ourselves,” says Donald. running his hand through his slicked back brown hair.
“Anyway, we’re off to the pub,“ says Kenneth. “We’re having a farewell drink with a few friends.”
Susan looks at the clock which shows that it’s almost five.
“Make sure you’re back by seven for dinner. Your cousin is joining us.”
“We’re only having a couple,” says Donald. “It will be good to see Hamish. We haven’t clapped eyes on him since he volunteered.”
The two young men go into the hallway, put on their overcoats and caps and leave the flat.
Susan slumps forward, takes her head in her hands and starts to weeps silently, overcome by a sense of foreboding.
The puddles on the pavement reflect the light from the gas lamps above as the young men stride down the street towards the King’s Wark. The air is full of smoke when they enter and the place is packed with boisterous dockers temporarily enriched by their wages for the week. The two squeeze through the throng to the counter and spot their three pals sitting nearby at a table with their backs against a wall chatting with a row of beer glasses in front of them.
“Two pints of heavy,” says Kenneth to a torn faced barman.
He grunts and takes two glasses and starts pulling the handle of a beer pump.
“I hear you’ve signed up for the army. Rather you than me.” He shakes his head.
“They wouldn’t have you anyway as you’re too old to fight,” says Donald with a big grin on his face.
“You were only boys until last year when you came in here to buy your first pints and here you are off to risk your lives.”
“We’re not afraid to do a man’s job,” says Kenneth.
The barman scoffs at this remark as he puts the second glass under the tap.
“That’ll be sixpence,” he says when both glasses are filled to the brim.
Kenneth hands him some coins, the boys pick up their drinks and take them over to the table.
“Here they are, the warriors,” says a chap with a freckled face as they take off their coats and caps and sit down.
“Cheers, lads,” says Kenneth before supping from his glass.
“Your father would have been proud of you,” comments a man with piercing black eyes and blonde hair parted in the middle.
“Aye, it’s a war which has to be fought and it’s our duty to serve,” says Kenneth.
The third friend silently studies the twins through his bottleneck glasses, puffing on a cigarette.
“I thought about following your example,” says freckle face. ”But Mother needs my wages to feed my younger brothers now that Dad has run off.”
“Think again. We’ll both be earning more than we do in the brewery,” says Donald
“The army needs reinforcements,” says Kenneth. “If you don’t join up, you’ll be at risk of being presented with a white feather by one of those women who come down from Edinburgh looking for men to shame into volunteering.”
Their friend pulls a face and takes a drink.
“Have you said farewell to Sarah?” asks the blonde lad looking at Kenneth.
“Aye. She’s working nightshift so I saw her at lunchtime. She’s a good lass and said she’ll wait for me. I don’t want any of you sniffing around her while I’m away.” He leans over the table grinning.
“Don’t worry. Your bigger than any of us and I’d be taking my life in my hands if I even thought about doing that!” replies freckle face.
The banter continues for a few minutes before it is killed by a sudden interruption by the silent one.
“I know you won’t want to hear this but lads like you are being treated as cannon fodder.” He narrows his eyes and curls his upper lip. “The high ups are not putting their lives at risk but are happy to urge others to sacrifice themselves.”
The twins look at each other in surprise but before they can say anything a tall man with a livid scar across one side of his face appears by the table.
“Good evening boys. I hear you’ve volunteered to join the Royal Scots. Best decision you’ve ever made. I should know as I served as a regular following in my father’s footsteps and fought in the Boxer Rebellion. The British Army is more than a match for any foreigner. Also, I’ve heard the lassies in France are bonny and right friendly.” He winks at the brothers.
“We’re not being sent to France,” says Donald. “We’re going off to some far-flung place called Gallipoli to fight the Turks who have taken sides with the Boche.”
“They’ll regret that decision and won’t know what’s hit them when the Jocks arrive.”
He turns to his right and catches a barman’s eye.
“Two drams for these brave young men.”
Two whiskies are measured out and placed on the counter. The man hands over a few coins and passes the drinks to the twins.
“Here’s to the Royal Scots,” he says as he raises his beer glass.
“Hear, hear,” say the brothers and two of their friends.
The dissenter gets up and departs, leaving his pint unfinished. Donald watches him leave before turning to the others.
“He’s bitter he can’t serve because of his poor eyesight and is envious of those of us who are fit to do so.”
“That’s his problem,” says Kenneth. “Anyway, who is going buy us a farewell pint?” he asks smiling at the two across the table before emptying his glass.
“I told them to be back before now,” Susan says, standing in front of the fire warming herself. The two China dogs on the mantelpiece gaze at her greying head of hair.
“I’m sure they’ll not be long, Aunty. The stew will not spoil.” Hamish has a high forehead and a thin, sparse moustache sits on his upper lip.
Suddenly, the front door opens and a draught gusts into the room bringing the twins in with it. Their coats are dusted with snow and reek of cigarettes.
“Great to see you, Hamish,” says Donald entering the sitting room.
Hamish rises from his chair and limps towards them.
“It’s been a long time lads. How are you both?”
“Fine, thanks. What’s happened to you?” asks Kenneth looking at his right leg.
Hamish flinches.
“I lost the lower part and I’ve got an artificial one now. Could have been a lot worse. My platoon walked over a field full of land mines and several lads got killed. I was in hospital for a long time but got home last week.”
“That’s bad luck,” says Kenneth.
“Your Mother tells me you’ve both signed up.”
“We’re reporting for duty with the Royal Scots tomorrow at Leith Town Hall and are being sent to Turkey once we’ve been trained,” says Donald.
“It’s wrong for boys of their age to go to war,” Susan says in a low voice. ”The war is not going to end anytime soon and the casualties are going to continue rising.”
She walks over to the cupboard, takes out four plates and starts serving steaming hot stew with a ladle from a pot on the stove.
Once dinner is served, they all sit down at the table and tuck in but no one says a word. The awkwardness eventually comes to an end when Hamish speaks up.
“One piece of advice I’ll give you boys is no to raise your head above the trenches unless you are ordered to do so. Lots of boys who did that were hit by low flying shells filled with shrapnel and suffered awful injuries.”
“We’ll remember that if the land lies the same as in France, won’t we? Donald says turning to his twin.
“Aye, we will.”
“And you should always look out for your fellow soldiers when you’re in battle. There will be times when you will need their help under fire.”
“Of course,” says Kenneth.
“One thing you can be sure of is you’ll find comradeship when you are on the front line. You’ll have to put up with wisecracks and have to give as good as you get. But it helps keep morale up.” Hamish cackles.
“We’re not afraid to stand up for ourselves!” laughs Kenneth.
Susan suddenly bangs the table with a fist.
“I know Hamish means well but he’s confirming you’re bound for hell on this earth, a place where no youngster should be. You don’t want to end up like him, do you?” She scowls at her sons.
The twins look away and Hamish’s face turns bright red.
She gets up and takes off her apron.
“I promised to go and see Margaret downstairs as she’s poorly. I’ll leave you to talk amongst yourselves.”
She slams the door on her way out.
“Tell us more about life in the army, Hamish,” says Donald. “I’m sure we have a lot to learn.”
The three have a good blether for a while about military life until Kenneth changes the subject.
“The one thing I’m a wee bit nervous about is the boat trip to Turkey,” he says.
“Worried you’ll be sea sick?” laughs his twin.
“No, it’s the U boats. Remember the warship that was sunk in the Firth of Forth a few months ago? Over two hundred men died.” He wrinkles his forehead.
“Ach, don’t worry about that. If one comes near us, the captain will drop a depth charge on it,” says Donald.
They hear the front door opening and turn to see Susan returning. The three of them fall silent in anticipation of another harangue but she speaks calmly to them.
“I’ll make you some jam sandwiches to take on your journey tomorrow. You’ve got an early start and it’s the last time I’ll be feeding you for a long time.”
“Thanks, Mother,” says Donald, looking into her eyes. ”We’ll always be grateful for everything you’ve done for us.”
Susan sits hunched over the table writing under the gas mantle. The light flickers casting large shadows around the room. She stops and screws up the sheet she has been writing on and throws it into the basket, adding to the two already lying there. She sighs, takes another piece of paper, dips her pen into the ink bottle and starts again.
Dear David, Leith, 25 May 1915
I am sorry for the delay in replying to your letter of 1 May. I am afraid I have sad news to share with you.
I did not want to worry you and so did not tell you in my latest letters that, despite my pleas, your brothers joined the Royal Scots in January. I was beside myself when they said their goodbyes as it only seemed like yesterday when they were bairns.
A tear runs down her face. She puts down the pen, pulls out a hankie and dabs her eyes before resuming.
They were sent off to a training camp in Stirlingshire for about three months and I got an occasional letter telling me it was hard work but they were enjoying themselves. A few days ago I went out to the shops and saw a newspaper billboard which said ‘Troop Train in Rail Crash.’ That troubled me because I knew they were being transported to Liverpool at some point to catch a boat to Turkey. The paper reported that a train from Larbert carrying soldiers from the Royal Scots had collided with a stationary train at a junction near the border and it was hit after that by a northbound train. There were many casualties.
I didn’t sleep a wink that night with worry and waited with dread for a knock on the front door. Around midday the following day young man in uniform presented himself and told me my lovely boy, your brother, Donald, had perished in the crash. I said his twin, Kenneth, would also have been on the train and asked if there was any news of him. He told me some bodies had not been identified yet and I should hear more in due course. I feared the worst and went down to St Mary’s to light a candle for both boys and pray for them.
Another day passed. I couldn’t eat or rest as I was so consumed with grief. But then a miracle happened.
She pauses for a moment her eyes brighten.
Yesterday, I was standing by the sink and heard the front door open. I turned to see what I thought was an apparition of Kenneth coming in and almost fainted. He rushed over and caught me in his arms. Feeling his heart beating as he embraced me told me he was no ghost.
He explained he had had a fit when waiting to board the train and a doctor decided he was not fit to travel. He was taken to hospital where a second medical examination was undertaken which he failed and he was discharged from the Army. I remember him having a couple of fits when he was younger but thought he was over it. Anyway, it was a godsend it happened.
All of those who died in the train crash were buried in a mass grave in Rosebank cemetery today. I went down to lay flowers and will visit as often as I can.
I feel like I have lost one son and regained another, suffering from grief one minute but feeling relief the next when I look at Kenneth. For you, I know it means having to grieve for one of your brothers while fighting in a war and trying to keep yourself safe. I pray you will be able to cope with this burden.
I promise to write again soon.
Your loving Mother
Susan gently blows on the letter, folds it and places it in an envelope before turning towards her son who is sitting in an armchair reading a newspaper
“What would you like for your tea?” she asks. “I’ve got some nice mutton if you fancy it.”
