User:Ethel1917

I wish to post this true story that happened to a family in the First World War. It has much social content of the time and clearly highlights what soldiers like  Arthur faced  in the trenches on a daily basis. The resulting action of marrying another woman whilst married did occur at this time. I am sure many people searching social history of the WWI will find this useful.

Night train to Knutsford

The Great War had changed many lives; some for the better but for Arthur Smith life would never be the same again. Before the war started his family was strong and foreword looking. He had scraped a life together for his wife Florence and his children, although living in the poor part of London, but they considered themselves happy. Arthur had managed to hang onto his job as an accountant’s clerk and to bring in enough money to pay for food and lodging, but everything changed on that fateful day in August 1914  when war was declared. Arthur wasn’t to realize it but he would soon leave the shores of England to join the army veterinary corps to tend the injured warhorses. The cavalry units were considered essential in the battle against enemy attack, they were better than the tanks in travelling through deep mud and were essential in carrying ambulances and supply wagons. Arthur grew very attached to the horses during those dark days, it was considered that the loss of a horse was of greater tactical concern that the loss of a soldier. He had been posted to the front at the very beginning and before he could really get to grips with his role he was in the thick of it at the battle of the Somme. He was soon to experience trench life at its worst, it was dirty smelly and riddled with disease and he was constantly living in fear of enemy attack. The weather was so wet and cold the trench soon became a mud bath and many a soldier would disappear into it never to be seen again. At first Arthur was really affected by this terrible experience, which alternated between boredom and extreme terror, but as time passed he became accustomed to the conditions but would suffer from shell shock for years to come.

During these times Arthur’s thoughts would wander to his home and family. He was yet to meet Ethel and to start on a destructive path, which would end with his imprisonment. He was married to Florence his second cousin who he had known for as long as he could remember. They played together in the Victorian streets of Wands worth. He had never had really experienced a feeling of strong passion for Florence but just a  warm feeling which developed from their shared childhood. It was just accepted by the whole family that they would eventually marry and one day, which they did. They tied the knot just before the start of the first Great War and in just under seven years she gave birth to four children, Alfie, Billy Ethel and little Hilda. The constant posting to the front took its toll and over time he started to disconnect from reality. Leave was short and Arthur would try to make the best of his time back in England but found it very difficult to settle down to family life as it was before. He started to look for excitement and comfort elsewhere and it was this action that caused the greatest sadness and would not only affect him and his wife Florence but also his sons for the rest of their lives. Arthur would visit the London music halls because  these shows contained everything to lift a soldiers’ spirits, spectacular song and dance routines, wartime songs like the white cliffs of Dover and we’ll meet again could be heard all along the Aldwhich. It was in this London Street at the Lyons corner café that he first set eyes on Ethel. She was exquisitely beautiful in her powder blue dress and string of pearls and her whole appearance resembled a delicate English rose. The sun shone through the café window framing her young silhouette nicely for everyone to admire. The moment Arthur saw her he felt his heart sing with joy and the Somme with all its atrocities faded into a distant memory. Arthur bought new hope and a new beginning for Ethel and it became a passionate intense courtship from the outset. He would come back from his stint at the front and go straight to her. How dashing he looked in his uniform. Ethel also felt she could push the memory of the death of her father and that terrible Zeppelin bombing of her primary school in Upper North street to the back of her mind. Her school had taken a direct hit, without warning a German bomb had fallen through the roof into the girls classroom and it continued to fall through into the boys classroom before finally exploding in the infant class. Eighteen children were killed including her best friend Elsie. It was all over the papers the next day and it shocked the Londoners to the core. She missed Elsie so much and was convinced  she would never get over it but the birth of her little daughter filled her heart with renewed hoped and strength. Arthur never really meant for their relationship go as far as it did. He was a married man after all and was still committed to Florence and their children but when Ethel became pregnant with Violet she naturally expected marriage. It was then that he got drawn into a web of intrigue and lies that he could not see a way out. Being deceitful was not been in his nature but he soon found himself responsible for two wives, two homes and two families. It was just after six in the evening and spring was slowly unfolding and a warm evening breeze was blowing across their little Victorian back garden, what could be better she thought. Ethel gently lifted her little daughter Violet from the cradle and held the tiny bundle so tight she made her whimper. She seemed no more than a handful of cloth but Ethel  thought her heart would burst with joy and happiness as she rocked her baby in her arms. Ethel had just turned eighteen in February, little more than a child herself, but the maternal pull she experienced at her child’s birth was as still as strong as that special day she gave her life. She approached the window with her bundle in her arms to look for her “husband” Arthur  who was due home from work any time. Poplar wasn’t a bad place to live after all despite the terror of the recent war and the loss of her father Arthur in one of the most sustained night bombings of the war. That September night   a German zeppelin penetrated the very heart of London when it released its first bombs over Euston Station and then went on to create havoc across the streets of Holborn. The city very quickly became ablaze and buildings were ripped apart The horror was terrible as the in sentry bombs rained down on the Guild Hall but miraculously missed St Paul’s. The men on search watch picked out the Zeppelin but the shells discharged failed to find their target. Arthur’s local pub, the Dolphin in red lion street took the whole blast ripping the front off completely. The pub’s clock was later recovered with its hands frozen at the time of the blast. There was nothing left of Arthur. These scenes of horror stayed with Mary and would come to her at random times like at this idyllic moment as she waited for her husband. Arthur  left the little office in high Holborn at just after five and strolled along the busy London streets towards the underground station. The city was heaving with office workers making the same journey home to their loved ones. He picked up his evening standard from Ron a rugged looking old man who had sat in his usual position at the station entrance throughout these troubled times. The scars of war were very visible a bomb had knocked out an entire house and partially demolished a second leaving a huge gap in the street. The bedroom wallpaper that once was only for the family’s eyes was now on full view of all passers by. Despite this devastation, there was a new beginning for everyone and a new hope for the future in the air. He thought about his new little daughter Violet, a little pink cherub cooing and chuckling in her pram. At long last he was able to control the flash back of war but he could not rid the memory of the stench that came off his battalion of men marching back from the line. It had been significantly different from the war he had expected, dashing military heroes and masculine bravery characterized by a well-organized cavalry of which he belonged. What actually happened at the Western Front could not have been more different; confusion, chaos and cowering in muddy trenches for no obvious reason other than to avoid death became most of the young men’s objective. The futility and bitterness of the fighting had made his life unreal. His home life and this hell had become blurred and the warm arms of Ethel created a distraction, which grew into a deep affectation and love during his leave times. When he was with Ethel and his new daughter it was real, Florence and his other children, his official family were pushed to the back of his mind. The unreality of his personal life blurred further as time marched on and he justified this terrible situation he had created by compartmentalizing the time spent between the two wives keeping the secret safe in his heart. As he walked up the path Ethel came out to greet him. He felt himself well up with love for her. “I’ve cooked you your special supper Arthur” she exclaimed. He whisked Violet out of Ethel’s arms and held her up to towards the sky as if offering her up to the almighty. They walked down the garden path arm in arm and settled down in their little home for the evening. It appeared that nothing would spoil their life together but how wrong their were, but a terrible event was about to unfold.

Section 2

Billy was sitting at the family table in the little scullery; he had just finished his supper when the doorknocker rattled loudly. That would be his dad coming home from work he thought bringing him a bag of humbugs as he always did on a Friday night. These thoughts and expectations went to the back of his mind as he strained to make sense of the hushed voices in the hall. The scullery door finally swung open and framed a very official looking woman in a blue woolen suite. Billy placed his little feet squarely on the solid stone floor as if to anchor himself to his home and safety. The sparse room, which has witnessed many events including the birth of his sister Hilda felt colder than usual, he looked across to where his father’s clean shirt had been put on the clotheshorse in front of the fire. This will be his lasting memory before he departs from his little home for good. Come on Billy his mother called, Billy turned and threw her a confused look. “What does this women want mam” he whispered. He hadn't been naughty and had even helped out at Sunday school when they needed the church flowers cleared away. His mam just looked back at him and silence prevailed. There was no answer forthcoming. Billy’s heart started to bang against his rib cage and he felt the need to scream out, he opened his mouth but no sound came. His mam stood upright next to the lady in the blue suite, almost challenging her right to be in their house. Powerless to stop was about to happen, silent tears dropped onto her pinafore dress. Florence had learnt about her husbands dark secret the week before, Ethel had come knocking at her door looking for “her husband Arthur” and this visit started the terrible chain of events that were about to unfold. The official visitor tried to lighten the mood, “come along laddie  we are going on an adventure” she encouraged “we mustn't be late for the train must we, it's going to be exciting travelling at night and you will be able to see all the lights of London.”  It was then that Billy noticed his father’s webbed army haversack sitting by the front door. This bag was his father’s pride and joy, it had witnessed many atrocities and had accompanied him to the western front and on every span of duty fighting for his country. Now the bag sat there not full of Arthur’s army issue but his son’s merger belongings. Florence looked at Billy with a face of despair, she could not bring herself to explain what had brought them to this point, she could not tell him that he was being taken and his younger sisters Ethel and Hilda were staying. Instead she gathered Billy up in her arms and pressed her robust form onto his tiny body as if to create a barrier between him and the official woman but it was of no use. The women looked on impassively and opened the front door onto the cold and silent night. Although it was March, an unseasonal gust of wind blew in and caught the scullery door so hard it slammed shut almost making a statement that life would never be the same again in this household. Billy clutched his dad’s bag tightly to his chest as he followed the woman along the Streatham high road past the bombed out art deco buildings and towards the underground. The ghosts of the forty thousand people killed during those raids still hung heavy in the London’s air, leaving an eerie silence. The Smith family had lived in Streatham for 50 years, the town was made up of a diverse community and the ebb and flow of people, and events had woven the story of Streatham. Now the Smith family was to add their contribution. “Where are we going ” Billy asked the women. The woman turned to him and said “We are going on an adventure where you will be able to play games and sing songs.”    Billy broke in. “I can play games with my Dad at home and sing songs at Sunday school! I want to go back to me mammy” he started to sob but was quickly quietened by the women’s stern approach. They continued to march down the road as though on a mission quickly reaching Kennington underground station and were soon standing on the platform at Euston’s railway station. Billy was shivered with cold and fright, the raw power and the hissing noise of the stream engine standing just a few feet away overpowered him. Billy stared up at the train in amazement. A beast of an engine he could hardly believe his eyes. He continued to cling to his bag and belongings so hard that his knuckles turned blue. The platform was packed with people coming and going, carrying suitcases and all manner of luggage, crying laughing and saying their goodbyes. Porters were helping the elderly and the young on board the train with expectation of a tip. By now the stationmaster was calling for everyone to board “ All aboard, all aboard the train is about to leave for Manchester “. Manchester Billy whispered, where in the world is Manchester he thought to himself. Billy clambered up the wooden steps like an obedient dog. The train started to trundle slowly out of the great Victorian station and  bellows of steam puffed out of its funnel. It gained momentum as the last carriage reached the end of platform. It was on its way to great northern England taking Billy farther and farther away from their Mammy and Dadda and all that was dear him. Billy sank back into the seat numb with the cold, his teeth were shattering and a deep feeling of apprehension settled in the pit of his stomach, which would say with him for the next seven years. Billy looked out of the train window into the night sky, he had turned seven just three weeks ago and the Church had done him proud with a lovely birthday party, balloons, jelly and ice cream and party games. His short life had been hard so far with little treats and the constant damp of the Victorian house impacting on his weak chest, so the party had been very special for him. Now what was to become of him? Where was being taken to by this strange woman? He wanted to ask her, to know everything about this terrible night but a feeling of powerlessness came over him and he could not utter a word. A terrible storm was brewing outside the train and the wind tore between its wheels of the making the swishing sound and rain was now beating against the window, which added to the bleak mood. The train carried him on and on and finally after what seemed a lifetime to Billy it pulled into Manchester station. Billy’s travelling companion opened the carriage door and the rain and wind rushed forward. He looked out into the night as they stepped down onto the platform. The wind continued to blow so hard it gathered them up and it almost impossible to stay upright. Billy he pulled his coat tighter to his little body. A stooping shadow stepped forward from the darkness and glided up to the small party and without any introductions muttered “This way ”. They followed silently and made their way to the waiting car. Billy’s only experience was of the dirty little narrow streets of London framed by the falling down Victorian buildings but now laid out before him was a wilderness stretching far into the darkness. No one spoke along the journey. The dawn began to break as the little car turned into the main road and made its way through Knutsford village and came to a halt at the entrance to the Emmeline Winstanley Home for Boys which was to become Billy’s new home for his entire childhood. It was one of the first homes set up for waifs and strays in the early 1900’s and took in 50 boys aged between 7 to 14 years, so Billy had just qualified. Little did he know it but he was not to see or speak to his parents again for seven years. Billy stepped out into the morning mist and took in the image of the old Victoria building, the chill wind cut though him like a knife and he was aware of the strange aroma of wild heather, so different from the familiar smell of coal and engine oil present in the grimy streets of London. Miss Comber, the matron appeared on the top of the steep stone steps, her robust frame filled the door space and her long black gown added to the mystery she emulated. She was expecting them and made no fuss about ushering the party in. Billy was filled with a mixture of tiredness and dread, this was going to be the first time in his short life that his heart would break as he sensed that a huge change was about to happen him. Billy stepped into the great entrance hall and as he looked up at the ceiling, tears started to fall down his cheeks and he began to sob, first quietly but then his sobs became louder and louder until he was wailing from the pit of his stomach. Matron’s attempts to console him were lost in the hopelessness of it all. He just stood there with his fists clenched and sobbed. Miss Comber calmly took charge of the situation. “Come on little Billy, I will show you where you are to sleep and to put your belongings.” Belongings Billy thought, I only have my Dadda’s war bag, I belong to my Mammy and Dadda they are my belongings. At this point the whole enormity of the situation began to dawn on him and he began to protest “I am not staying here, I want my Mammy, I want my Mammy I want her so bad, so bad I want NOW” Billy crumpled to the cold stone floor and refused to move. Miss Comber continued in her calm unfazed manner and called out to George the Home’s schoolmaster to come and take Billy to the boy’s dormitory. George lifted Billy up and carried him into the dormitory closely followed by the matron. It was a large bedroom accommodating 20 iron beds, which were  laid out in two neat rows. He looked on and listened to the sobs of the lost lonely children rising all around him. So life began for Billy as a foundling where a regime centered on religion, sport, law and order. The matron opened a small locker by the bed to show Billy his new orphanage uniform all grey and folded neatly. Billy picked up the grey woolen trousers and threw them to the ground. A sharp pain suddenly went though his head as Matron delivered a quick slap to the back of his neck. He turned to look at the women; he was outraged, he had never be struck before even when he was very naughty it was always dealt with by withdrawing his favorite sherbet lemons or early to bed. How dare she hit him, how dare she but there was no one to stop her so he just picked the offending trousers and placed them on top of the other clothes. So this is what is was going to be like, a loveless life with slaps and hash words. Nothing made sense; he could not understand why his parents had sent him away to this vile place. Nothing had been explained to him, no discussions in the days leading up to this moment, nothing. Why had his whole world come crashing down around him? Everyday following this first day Billy hoped would be the day he would be re-united with his mam and dad. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. Alfred had now been an inmate at Wormwood scrubs for three months before Florence could bring herself to visit him. He had been sentenced to eighteen months hard labour for his bigamist marriage to Ethel. He was not given any time to say sorry to Ethel or Florence for this terrible thing he had done, he was just taken straight from the Central Court at the Old Bailey to Prison. Florence was to receive no financial help, not even parish relief, she was left destitute with three children all under the age of 10 years so she had no option but to approach to the Waifs and Strays home for help or it would be the workhouse for all the family. The kind local Vicar Revd. Williams completed the application and  informed the Society that the family had always been considered respectable residents of the parish and before Alfred’s arrest for bigamy and he had not given his wife any cause for complaint. The Reverend was determined to help this poor family and to support his application to accept Billy at the Children’s home he approached Major Gordon Gardiner the Government visitor at Wormwood Scrubs to write a letter of support. The major was happy to help Alfred and explained in the letter that Alfred remained devoted to his wife and the struggle to which she and her children were condemned to was never absent from his thoughts. His one desire was to keep himself together mentally and physical so that when he comes out he may be able to make it up to them for the sorrow and disgrace he has caused. The family was now living from hand to mouth. Florence became decidedly delicate and it was obvious she had not eaten a proper meal for days and any food that there was given to the two little girls. So Billy fate was set, the Children’s society decided to keep Billy at the children’s home. The first Christmas was upon her, the first without her Billy, she supported her little daughters by cleaning other people's houses and taking in laundry. Life was bleak for her and heartbroken Ethel. A bell could be heard ringing just outside the dormitory, which prompted the boys to jump out of bed and dress quickly. Billy quickly copied this behavior pulled on the grey trousers over his small frame. The boys gestured to him to join the line that was quickly forming. No one spoke; they just moved forward to the door and made their way to main hall. The hall looked huge now, the sun was shinning through the bow windows and to the far end of the room there stood a large oblong black table set for breakfast. One of the bigger boys nudged Billy forward not to the breakfast area but to row of buckets with mops. He instructed Billy to pick it up, “mop the floor,” he said  we all have chores to do before breakfast that is the way of the home. Billy started to cry again, he looked around but there was no one to comfort him. So a new kind of life began for Billy. Many of the boys were beaten on a regular basis for very small reasons or for no reason at all. One 7-year-old orphan named John described it as a house of torture. The housemaster would seize the birch, which was hanging on the dining room door, and stride furiously up and down the hall randomly  stopping in front of the boy and proceed to beat him without mercy. The boys would squirm silently and glare at this tyrant’s rage. Billy soon learnt to stay clear of trouble but would never accept that he had been sent to this place by his parents, he believed someone else had made the decision to remove him and from his family home. How could his mammy and daddy have let this happen without some external pressure? Life becomes a little more bearable when Billy made friends with Eddie an older boy who had worked out how to get sweets and other treats. Billy had developed an ability to make small toys out of old pieces of wood he had picked up on the way back from school. Eddie was his broker and exchanged these toys for goodies for a small cut in the sale. Attending school in the local village brought little respite and the stigma of being an inmate at the children’s home carried over to school life. When school ended for the day the children went home to be with their loving families but the “boys”: made their way back to the home for waifs and strays. So Billy spent most of his childhood at the children’s home the Master of the home as a bright boy with an above average intelligence and sometimes mischievous described him. School was a short walk to the beautiful village of Knutsford but the life he was experiencing was a world apart from the genteel lifestyle of the villagers who spent many hours in teashops and walking in Hatton Park. Throughout this time, Billy lived in an emotional void as he learnt to bury his feelings in the well of his heart, His feelings would only bubble up on special occasions like birthdays and Christmas but no cards arrived. Unmarked birthdays passed by, it was as though he had been rubbed out of their lives and had never existed. Besides these losses Billy also lost the childhood experience of sibling togetherness and rivalry. His sisters were with their mother all is it living in poverty, but together. Throughout the time spent at the home Billy wondered what he had done to his parents that they felt the need to abandon him in a harsh uncaring way without an explanation. Seven years would pass before he would make the journey back to London, but unlike that foggy night on the morning of departure the sun was shinning on the station platform. Now his adult life stretched before him but for his parents they had lost their chance to be his mam and dad and to love him as a child. The bond had snapped forever on that night train to Knutford.