The Wars

  Not all the shells were falling in their vicinity. The barrage was being laid down for a mile either side of the Signals Office. Robert went inside at one point to request of Captain Leather that he be allowed to take the horses and mules he had just brought forward and make a strategic retreat with them so they might be saved. But Captain Leather, who was underneath a table at the time (as was Robert), was adamant in his refusal. ‘What would it look like?’ he said to Robert. ‘We should never live it down.’ Robert returned to the stables where he crouched in a stall with Devlin—both of them rolled like hedgehogs with their heads between their knees.

  Finally, when the shells began to land in the barnyard, Robert couldn’t stand it any longer and he said to Devlin: ‘I’m going to break ranks and save these animals. Will you come with me?’ Devlin wanted to—and said so. But he was afraid of Captain Leather. ‘Leather is insane,’ said Robert flatly. ‘It cannot be called disobedience to save these animals when they’ll be needed, for God’s sake, half-an-hour after this is over. And if we stay here, how can they avoid being killed?’ Devlin concurred. They both stood up and began to release the horses and mules and to drive them into the yards. Robert sent Devlin running so that he could open the gates and let the animals escape. Then he returned himself to the barn and released the remaining horses.

  While he was inside, it was everyone’s misfortune that Captain Leather rose from beneath his table in the office and looked out of the window long enough to see what Devlin was doing. He raced outside, in spite of the shells, and started yelling at Devlin, who by now was at the gates. But Devlin was forthright. Once he had made his decision to go with Robert—he stuck to it in spite of his fear of the captain and the consequences.

  Leather called for an M.P.

  None came.

  He ran towards Devlin brandishing his revolver.

  ‘Shut those God damn gates!’ he screamed. ‘Shut them! Shut them! You traitor!’

  But Devlin went on driving as many horses through as he could until, inevitably, Captain Leather shot him. Then Captain Leather ran to the gates and dragged them closed himself.

  There were now between thirty and forty mules and horses in the yard—milling about and running in a circle.

  Robert came out of the stable and saw what had happened.

  Captain Leather saw him and brandished his revolver and began to shout at him just as he had at Devlin. ‘Traitor! Traitor! You’ll be shot for this!’ He was waving the gun in the air and trying to get through the circle of horses and mules so that he could draw a bead on Robert. Robert, in the meantime, had begun to make his way towards the gates.

  The shells began to make direct hits at this moment. One and then another fell on the Signals Office. Robert paid no attention. He just kept running for the gates. He could hear the men who were trapped inside the ruin screaming to be let out. Everything was on fire.

  Another shell landed on the barns. They too began to burn. Some of the horses ran back inside. Robert could not prevent them. He was too far away. ‘Just keep going,’ he said to himself out loud. ‘Just keep going.’

  Captain Leather was now about ten yards away. The gates were five.

  ‘Stop!!!’ Captain Leather screamed.

  As if the word had been their cue—three shells burst in order—all in the yard.

  Robert was blown out into the road. When he got to his feet and started back towards the barnyard he had left—it wasn’t there.

  The barns were a heap of burning rubble. So was the Signals Office. In the centre of the yard, there was just a smoking hole. All the horses and mules were either dead or were dying. It appeared that only Robert had survived.

  He got out the Webley, meaning to shoot the animals not yet dead, but he paused for the barest moment looking at the whole scene laid out before him and his anger rose to such a pitch that he feared he was going to go over into madness. He stood where the gate had been and he thought: ‘If an animal had done this—we would call it mad and shoot it,’ and at that precise moment Captain Leather rose to his knees and began to struggle to his feet. Robert shot him between the eyes.

  It took him half-an-hour to kill the mules and horses. Then he tore the lapels from his uniform and left the battlefield.

  9 The day that Mister and Mrs Ross received the news that Robert was ‘missing in action’ Mrs Ross refused to dress. She remained in her nightgown and wandered around the house on South Drive with a bottle in one hand, a glass in the other. Miss Davenport locked her door and sat in a chair with her back to the window. The sound of Mrs Ross’s cries to heaven rose up through her room and made her stop her ears.

  Peggy and Mister Ross sat in the drawing room where Mister Ross had drawn the curtains. Out beyond the windows, the robins sang and the sun shone and the lilacs were still in bloom.

  Stuart sat on the bottom step in the front hall with Bimbo at his feet. His mother’s appearance alarmed him. Frightened him. But his brother’s apparent death was strangely exhilarating news in itself. Not that Stuart wished Robert ill. But the thought of going to school and saying: ‘Robert is dead. He’ll prob’ly get the Victoria Cross’—this was marvellous to contemplate and it sent a shiver down his back.

  The cable had arrived just after lunch. Now it was early in the evening. Mrs Ross had wandered the length and breadth of the house. She was in her bare feet. Her hair, in a plait, hung down her back. Stuart went to the drawing room and sat on his father’s other side. A strange and terrible silence descended. Even Miss Davenport became alarmed enough to unlock and open her door.

  Mrs Ross stood on the landing of the stairs. The bottle fell from her hand. It was empty and it rolled to the bottom step. She gave a final agonizing cry.

  Everyone froze. Even the neighbours, listening through the open windows.

  Mrs Ross put her hands out and started forward. She found the bannister and leaned against it all the way to the bottom. At the bottom, she just avoided stepping on the bottle. She sat down beside it where Stuart had sat through the earlier part of the afternoon.

  ‘Help,’ she said.

  Nobody moved.

  ‘Help,’ said Mrs Ross.

  Mister Ross, in the drawing room, stood up.

  He advanced towards the hallway.

  ‘Help me,’ said Mrs Ross.

  Mister Ross put out his hand.

  ‘Where?’ said Mrs Ross. ‘Where? Where are you?’

  Mister Ross said: ‘I’m here.’

  Mrs Ross said: ‘I’m sorry. Please. I cannot see you.’

  Mister Ross went across the parquet floor and sat beside his wife. He put his arm around her shoulder and held her against his side. She was cold.

  ‘I’m blind,’ said Mrs Ross. ‘I’ve gone blind.’

  There was not a trace of emotion left in her voice. But she fumbled with her fingers and found her husband’s hand.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Mister Ross. ‘Never mind. Here we are.’

  Peggy came and stood in the doorway. Mister Ross signalled for her to get her mother’s coat. Peggy brought it from the cupboard and Mister Ross put it around his wife’s shoulders. Then Mister Ross sent Peggy and Stuart and Bimbo away. They all went off and sat in the garden.

  Upstairs, Davenport looked from her window.

  The ravine was full of mist.

  The sun was descending. It was cool.

  In the distance, the traffic on Yonge Street and Bloor Street rumbled and clattered. Everyone was going home. All the clocks were striking.

  Mrs Ross began to fall asleep. Mr Ross held her and rocked her from side to side. The house began to darken. They sat there, silently singing. Finally, she slept.

  In the drawing room, sitting in its silver frame, Robert’s picture started to fade.

  It got completely dark.

  This was the sixteenth of June.

  10 That night the sun fell down through rolling palls of smoke.

  The road to Bailleul was clogged with horses and machines. The army in r
etreat had swollen to three times the size of the columns stumbling forward to the front. The earth had baked beneath their feet and the air was filled with a fine, grey powder that matted in their hair and scoured the rims of their eyes. The only water to be had lay out in the marsh beyond the flaming hedgerows of abandoned carts and lorries. No one dared to leave their place in line for fear they would not be allowed back in. If a mule or horse fell down or stumbled in the traces, the wagon it was pulling was rolled aside and its wounded occupants surrendered to their fate. The fallen animals were dragged, still living, to the ditches where unavoidably they burned or were drowned. There were no acts of mercy. There was no ammunition to be spared.

  It became apparent the Germans meant to raze Bailleul to the ground. Their long-range guns had begun to fire that afternoon. At first these shells fell only in the orchards on the outskirts but through the night they probed with deeper and deeper bursts into the heart of the marketplace and the railroad yards. Here, there was a trick of timing that had disastrous results for the British.

  For weeks Bailleul had been shut down as a reception depot. This was because of the ships that had been sunk at Folkestone. But three days before, because of the super-human efforts of the Canadian Reserve contingents stationed just a mile-and-a-half from Folkestone at Shorncliffe—the ships in the harbour had been raised. This meant the channel crossing to Boulogne could be put back into operation and in turn this meant the railroad line to Bailleul had been re-opened. For the past two days troops and horses and supplies that up till then were being diverted through Le Havre and Rouen—(far behind the lines and utterly out of the range of the guns)—had been arriving by the trainload. Now, as the Germans turned their guns to its destruction, the British filled the town with their entire reserve for the battle.

  Bailleul’s facilities were swollen with hordes of soldiers—some in retreat without commanders—others standing rigidly in place waiting for their orders to advance to the front. When the shells began to fall in the ranks, there was instant panic. The narrow streets filled up with running men. Convoys of ammunition and petrol were abandoned where they stood. Drums and tanks of gasoline spilled to the stones and spread through the town in rivers of fire. Men, machines and houses went up like torches. It became a holocaust.

  This, too, was on the 16th of June.

  11 She was standing in the middle of the railroad tracks. Her head was bowed and her right front hoof was raised as if she rested. Her reins hung down to the ground and her saddle had slipped to one side. Behind her, a warehouse filled with medical supplies had just caught fire. Lying beside her there was a dog with its head between its paws and its ears erect and listening.

  Twenty feet away, Robert sat on his haunches watching them. His pistol hung down from his fingers between his knees. He still wore his uniform with its torn lapels and burned sleeves. In the firelight, his eyes were very bright. His lips were slightly parted. He could not breathe through his nose. It was broken. His face and the backs of his hands were streaked with clay and sweat. His hair hung down across his forehead. He was absolutely still. He had wandered now for over a week.

  Behind him, the railroad track stretched back towards the town. In front of him, it reached out through the fire towards the open countryside and the road to Magdalene Wood. On one of the sidings there was a train. Its engineer and crew had either abandoned it, or else they had been killed. It could not be told. Robert appeared to be the sole survivor.

  He stood up. The engine hissed and rumbled. The train was about a dozen cars—no more. They appeared to be cattle cars. Robert walked to the horse.

  He had feared she might be lame, but as soon as he approached she put her hoof back down on the cinders and raised her head. Robert petted her, slipping his arm around her neck and drawing the reins back over her ears. She greeted him with a snuffling noise and looked around to watch him as he adjusted her saddle and tightened the cinch. The dog, in the meantime, had got to his feet and was wagging his tail. It was as if both dog and horse had been waiting for Robert to come to them.

  The horse was a fine black mare, standing about sixteen hands. She had been well cared for up till now and someone had obviously ridden her every day. She was in superb condition. The dog apparently was used to her company and she to his. They moved in tandem. The dog was also black. One of his ears fell forward in an odd way, giving the appearance of a jaunty cap. Robert did not know what sort of dog he was, but he was about the size of a Labrador retriever. Before mounting, Robert reached down and rubbed his hand across the dog’s back. Then he said: ‘Let’s go,’ and swung into the saddle.

  They rode down the track towards the road to Magdalene Wood passing, as they went, the engine in the siding. When they got to the first of the cars—the horse stopped. She threw her head back and whinnied. Other horses answered from inside the car. ‘All right,’ Robert said. ‘Then we shall all go together.’

  Half-an-hour later, the twelve cars stood quite empty and Robert was riding along the tracks behind a hundred and thirty horses with the dog trotting beside him. They were on the road to Magdalene Wood by 1 a.m. This was when the moon rose—red.

  12 Here is where the mythology is muddled. There are stories of immediate pursuit. But these are doubtful. Some versions have it that Robert rode through La Chodrelle at a gallop—all of the horses running in front of him, stampeded. There are several ‘witnesses’ to this. They describe Robert as some sort of raving cowboy—giving the Rebel Yell as he flew past—driving the horses deliberately through a cordon of soldiers hastily thrown up to prevent his escaping—killing three—five—nine and even a dozen pickets. None of this is in the transcript of his court martial—but the ‘witnesses’ insist it was the case.

  Far more likely is the version that describes the horses making a detour out around the woods lying west of La Chodrelle and waking, in their passage, the troops who were under the command of one Major Mickle whose bivouac was in the field of flax on the other side of the wood. Here, it is said, Robert shot Private Cassles and this is more probable. Private Cassles was certainly killed by someone and there are two witnesses—(one of whom testified at the court martial proceedings)—both of whom claim that Cassles went out—unarmed—to prevent Robert’s passing and that when the private made a grab for Robert’s reins, Robert shot him in the face. What has never been made clear is why Private Cassles felt compelled to challenge Robert in the first place. After all—Robert was an officer of the Field Artillery and had every right to be in charge of a convoy of horses. The obvious answer to this is that Cassles was alert enough to perceive how unlikely it might be that the horses should be driven away from the centre of Bailleul—but no one has said for certain this was the case.

  At any rate, what happened was that Major Mickle went himself immediately to his signals office at La Chodrelle and sent word back to Bailleul that an officer of the C.F.A. had shot and killed one of his men and had then made off with a great many horses in the direction of Magdalene Wood.

  It took some time, due to the confusion at Bailleul, to discover that the horses were indeed missing and that no authority had been given anyone to remove them from the ‘Military Compound’ (a euphemism for the station yard during the state of emergency). Once this was established—Mickle was commissioned to give pursuit to the renegade horse thief and, within about four hours of Robert shooting Private Cassles, Major Mickle and forty men had taken after him on foot.

  13 They found him in the abandoned barns he had first seen when he was walking to Bailleul. Of the hundred and thirty horses sixty had been stabled in the two smaller barns and about fifty were in the larger barn with Robert, the black mare and the dog. Twenty others had wandered back through some trees towards the river—and these were never found. From this point on, all that happened is very clear and precise.

  The sun had risen. It was a cloudless, humid day. The air was filled with the sound of insects. Mickle deployed his men around the barns—with orders to shoot to ki
ll if Robert opened fire. Mickle was adamant about this. Cassles had been shot. Robert had done it. But Mickle was also determined he should regain the horses for the army. He said as much to Robert—calling out to him from the barnyard.

  Robert was inside—watching Mickle through a crack in the door. He had drawn the Webley and was quite prepared to shoot at anyone who came in to get him or to release the horses. There can be no doubt whatsoever that Robert meant the horses should not go back. His actions at Wytsbrouk preclude any other interpretation of what followed.

  Mickle put his case: that Robert should surrender both himself and the horses—throw down his weapon and offer himself voluntarily for arrest. Mickle promised to take such ‘voluntary surrender’ into account in his submission of the case to the Military Police.

  Robert refused.

  Mickle countered by saying that in that case he had no choice but to come in and take Robert by force.

  Robert’s answer to this was to take a shot at Mickle—which missed.

  Mickle was a brave man. He decided that, plainly, he was dealing with a man gone mad and that he must act in accordance with that interpretation. He must dispense not only with mercy—but with reason. That he did so, puts the state of his own mind in question—for what he did next cannot be interpreted as being any less ‘mad’ than what Robert had done in taking the horses and deserting the battle. Mickle said: ‘We shall have you out of there, I tell you. Do not doubt me. I shall have you, even though you kill me.’

  He then offered Robert one more chance to come outside of his own volition and Robert’s answer—just as before—was a shot. After he had fired this second time—and Mickle was in hiding behind the gate to the barnyard—Robert called out very distinctly (and there are twenty witnesses to this): ‘We shall not be taken.’

  It was the ‘we’ that doomed him. To Mickle, it signified that Robert had an accomplice. Maybe more than one. Mickle thought he knew how to get ‘them’ out.