Those Who Fought for Us

  Chapter 1

  A Gathering in Scotland

  Gloucestershire, England – December, 1913

  Gloucestershire lies in the West of England, a place that is at once noticeable for the quiet lifestyle enjoyed by her progeny, as well as for her undeniable natural beauty. As recently as half a century ago, the shire lay a full day’s journey from London, thereby solidifying the sense of remoteness that has only recently begun to wane due to the advent and subsequent expansion of rail service, yet one of the dizzying array of inventions from the industrial revolution that are rapidly changing England today.

  Gloucestershire is populated by English people, a polyglot of Celts, Romans, Angles, Saxons, Vikings, Germans, French, and even a few so-called indigenous people. To say that these disparate groups were not initially kindly disposed to one another would be an understatement. The amalgamation of the English into a single people over two and a half millennia is perhaps a miracle in and of itself, but somehow, beyond all expectation, unite we have.

  Indeed, by the fading days of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, England had become one of the most powerful countries on Earth. As is the case with many other ascending powers, ours is a history steeped in mystery. Still, the historical record from the time of Elizabeth onwards is quite robust, and one therefore assumes – also accurate.

  Accordingly, it may also be said that the history of the Sutherland family is reliable, at least going back to Elizabethan times. The Earldom of Winston traces its roots to the period shortly after the death of Queen Elizabeth, in 1603. As she never bore a child, at least, not that history records, her rightful successor to the throne of England was King James VI of Scotland, who, on his ascension, became King James I of England.

  The ascendance of the king of one country to the throne of another, although not without precedent, was nevertheless unusual. Perhaps more importantly, it was anticipated that the reign of the foreign king would necessarily be fraught with danger and intrigue. Aware of the potential hazards, King James accepted this challenge with a great deal of anxiety, as the aforementioned English and the fledgling king’s brethren, the Scots, were, to put it mildly, not on the best of terms with one another.

  Accordingly, when James ventured south, meandering through the Scottish lowlands, he amassed an entourage of Scottish nobility with him, herding them, as it were, to market in England. By the time he had reached London, his attendant procession was indeed of royal proportions. Some said that he intended to populate his court with personal allies; others that he simply preferred to have an ample supply of friends around who comprehended his Scottish brogue. At any rate, the Clan of Sutherland, led by Alan Sutherland, was cajoled by James into joining the caravan of migrant Scots who endured the long journey.

  Alan Sutherland wasn’t actually the Earl of Winston, at least not at first. That came a bit later, when in 1615 he was awarded the Earldom for meritorious service to the Crown. Concomitantly, King James bestowed upon the Sutherland family a parcel of land in Gloucestershire, prime property within the Cotswolds, together with sufficient resources to fund the Earldom. The initial incarnation of Wharton Manor was erected in that same year. Like so many other English estates, it both evolved and expanded over succeeding generations of the Earldom, as England slowly developed into the seat of the most powerful empire in the world, naturally accompanied by attendant expansion of the earldom itself.

  Both the earldom and the manor have now endured within the Sutherland family for nigh onto three centuries. And over that span of time, the Sutherland family has gradually become thoroughly Anglicized, the Scottish brogue having all but disappeared by the middle of the seventeenth century, or so it is maintained by the family elders. Still, the Sutherlands have continued to remain proud of their distant Scottish heritage. Indeed, the males of the family are sometimes even known to deck themselves out in kilts and, downing shots of scotch, to perform a ceremonial Highland fling before the family crest, which to this day sports the image of a sporran. Nevertheless, it can be said that the Sutherlands have acquired the essential accoutrements of English aristocracy.

  The current earl, Lord William Sutherland, the twelfth Earl of Winston to be exact, sired by his wife, the Lady Mary Sutherland, the current heir to the earldom in the year 1893. The newborn was shortly thereafter christened Robert Alan in the shire baptistery, attached to the modest Church of St. James, directly adjacent to the grounds of Wharton Manor.

  Young Sir Robert’s childhood could be described as a happy one. Still, by the presumably adult age of twenty, he already felt deeply fettered by the pressures attendant to the Sutherland family heritage. Education, military experience, and subsequent marriage, all necessary precursors to proper ascendance to the peerage, these were absolute necessities that lay in Sir Robert’s immediate future.

  It had been determined by Lord William that young Robert would take up studies at the University of Edinburgh, perhaps for a two year period, the culmination of which would lead directly to his enrollment at Sandhurst. Although Robert adored Scotland, birthplace of his ancestral roots, he preferred to avoid it in winter, the Cotswolds of Gloucestershire offering a much more hospitable climate during that time of year when the sun stands low in the sky for months on end. But there was no arguing with Sir William. Preparations were therefore made for Robert’s impending relocation to Edinburgh shortly after the advent of the year. Accordingly, it could be said that planning for the first two parts of his eventual elevation to the peerage were already clearly well in hand.

  Provisions for the third part – marriage – were proving to be considerably more complicated. In England, the importance of family heritage cannot be overestimated. Unfortunately, despite the fact that the Sutherlands had long since declared themselves to be loyal subjects of the Crown, they were nonetheless still considered to be interlopers by certain holdouts within the staid populace of Gloucestershire. Mindful of this unpleasant reality, the Sutherlands had in recent generations resorted to intermarriage in order to mitigate the lingering mistrust heaped upon them by the locals.

  With this in mind, Robert Sutherland had understood from a very early age that he was to marry someday, and that he should marry a woman not only of proper breeding, but also one of local upbringing. He, of course, being an emblematic member of the male sex, desired that his intended should also be both intelligent and attractive. Unfortunately, by the time he was twenty, he had concluded that such a woman did not exist in the whole of Gloucestershire.

  Alas, which qualities to subordinate in his quest to fulfill his familial obligation? For his part, he naturally preferred to emphasize intelligence and attractiveness. Alternatively, seeing as how Robert was the heir to the Earldom, his family preferred to accentuate local upbringing and breeding. As evidence, Lord William pointed to family tradition: given time, perhaps a few more centuries, not to mention countless future intermarriages, the Sutherlands would most assuredly be welcomed as full-fledged Gloucestershirites by even the stodgiest among them.

  Robert countered to Sir William with his own argument: a Gloucestershire cow is both local and well-bred, but marriage to a cow by a member of the peerage would most assuredly do irreparable damage to the family reputation. Unfortunately, the future Lord Sutherland’s contemporary brand of humor was much too ribald for the current and rather staid Lord Sutherland.

  Accordingly, Lord William maintained solemnly, “Limit your interests to human females.”

  Apparently attempting to be helpful in her own matronly way, Lady Sutherland commanded in all sincerity, “Just be certain she is possessed of ample hips.”

  “Might I have some say in the final choice, if and when it presents itself?” Robert was heard to query, as if his as-yet-to-be-determined intended were some inanimate object.

  “Yes,” replied his mother.

  “No,” simultaneously enjoined his father.

  And so it went, a pre-conjugal battle, something that has bee
n repeated countless times for hundreds of years, at least in England, between titled parents and their bewildered offspring. Robert consequently privately determined that his only possible course of action was to remain single for the remainder of his natural life.

  In truth, the thought of eternal bachelorhood bothered him not in the slightest, whereas the thought of perpetual celibacy greeted him with considerable trepidation. “The heir to an Earldom cannot simply find companionship wherever he may,” he considered to himself disconsolately, “No, sir! It simply isn’t done within the British Empire.” On the other hand, there was the looming reality that he himself must at some point sire his own heir. It became apparent that some sort of solution was not only warranted but, one could say - even paramount.

  It seemed to him to be a matter of geography. Wherever he went in Gloucestershire, prying eyes were there, prepared to spread at a moment’s notice the latest gossip regarding young Sir Robert’s personal doings. Accordingly, Robert actually welcomed his father’s determination that he should study in Edinburgh. With social obscurity indeed might come the opportunity to make the acquaintance of a young lady suitable for the third part of his challenge, something that had of necessity thus far entirely eluded Robert.

  As if reading his mind, his father commanded, “And it should go without saying, Robert – I shall expect you to hold yourself entirely disentangled from those wily Scottish maidens during the course of your studies. Am I understood?”

  “No, sir! I mean – yes, sir!” he responded somewhat ludicrously to his father’s instructions, “I shall have no interactions with the local females whatsoever. I seek to gain knowledge, and only knowledge. There shall most assuredly be no time at all for intermingling.”

  “And you understand, of course, that I have already enrolled you at Sandhurst in two years’ time. Therefore, I shall expect you to complete your studies at university thenceforth.”

  “Yes, sir, I shall return home within two years’ time, well prepared for the advent of my military studies. I so promise!”

  Future military servitude contracted, Robert thenceforth set off on his two year sabbatical, a free and fortunate man of the world, well aware that this could indeed be for him a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. Temporarily unfettered, he was set on exploring the mysteries of whatever might befall him, especially that which he could not partake of within the stultifying confines of Gloucestershire.

  Yorkshire, England – The Following Week

  Elizabeth Turnberry eyed herself appreciatively in the mirror. Her long flowing red hair had finally reached the perfect length, just in time for her impending departure. Carefully removing her chemise, she took stock of her perfectly proportioned body. At eighteen, she was fully developed, but sadly, she had never had the occasion to explore the true purpose behind such a well-proportioned arsenal of feminine charms. Still wrapped within the staid umbrella of post-Victorian England, young ladies of the realm such as she were all too often kept in the dark as to the mysteries of love, marriage, motherhood, and indeed, of all things feminine.

  Those purloined pamphlets, scorching novelettes that all her female school friends had thoroughly consumed, left altogether too much to the imagination. Hence, it was with a certain amount of anticipation, mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation that she prepared for her impending journey to Edinburgh. The winter term at the university was about to commence, she having enrolled under the guidance and proviso of the parish vicar, himself a graduate of the august University of Edinburgh.

  Being herself not the least bit inclined toward the sciences, she was as yet uncertain as to what her course of study might be. Still, considering herself a firm devotee of Jane Austen, Elizabeth thought a career in writing to be altogether appropriate, should no other more enticing field of study present itself.

  The hour for her departure inevitably approaching, the following morning Elizabeth said a teary-eyed farewell to her parents and caught the train for Edinburgh. She was treated to a pleasant journey across the moors, subsequently traversing the glorious lowlands of Scotland, and thence on to Edinburgh itself. Arriving on a cold winter’s eve, she made her way as quickly as possible to the student registration office, and from there onward to the apartment assigned to the scant few females enrolled at the university. It was by all accounts an auspicious beginning to what promised to be a terribly exciting chapter in her as-yet-to-be-written life.

  Aberdeen, Scotland – The Following Day

  Alastair Stewart waved to his father one last time from the window of the train. As he had never been as far as Edinburgh, he anticipated the long journey south with a certain degree of anxiety. For a middle-class young man of nineteen, the opportunity to study at such a famous university was quite beyond expectation. But Alastair had excelled in his studies, inevitably paving the way for his admission to The University of Edinburgh. “Sech a famous place,” he thought to himself absently as the train lurched forward from the station, “The alma mater of the famous physicist James Clerk Maxwell, undoubtedly Scotland’s moost accomplished scientist ay all time.” Alastair’s secret ambition was to follow in Professor Maxwell’s footsteps, perhaps someday even matriculating to Cambridge, as Maxwell himself had done. All possibilities lay before him, unfolding far out into the future. For now, his immediate goal was to learn, and perhaps even to enjoy a bit of excitement along the way.

  The South Atlantic Ocean – March, 1914

  Margaret MacCreedy was utterly transfixed by the panoramic vista laid out before her. She clenched the ship’s railing forcefully and gazed far out to sea, seemingly unaware of the gale-force winds that pounded the bow, each roiling wave tilting the deck precariously near to the water’s surface. As she pondered unawares, yet another enormous wave crashed into the starboard side of the ship, forcing it to sway askance once again. The subsequent roll of the ship induced that torpidly unsettling, gut wrenching feeling, as of one’s stomach riding precariously in a poorly designed sling.

  To be sure, there were others grasping desperately at the railing, but all save she had made their way topside for the express purpose of launching their evening meal overboard, in sickened deference to the near uniformly ill passengers below decks.

  Margaret, shrouded in a billowing gray woolen blanket, somehow appeared uniquely immune to the nausea afforded by the tempest. Predictably, she too had been stricken several times during the nearly three-week passage from Melbourne to Rio de Janeiro, but by now she was completely at one with the burgeoning sea, as if befriended by an unlikely adversary.

  The ship, having set sail from Rio, was now steaming north for Glasgow. She was at length well into the last leg of her journey, little more than a week from her destination, the advent of the steam ship having decreased the time span of the voyage from Australia to the British Isles by a factor of six.

  Despite the maelstrom that engulfed her, Margaret’s thoughts were somewhere else entirely. She wondered how her great-grandfather, Kyle MacCreedy, had managed it. His crossing had spanned seven months, little more than eighty years past. Now, though undeniably miserable, she felt assured that she would complete the passage without excessive travail in little more than a month. Had it not been for the miraculous advances in sea transport, she doubted that she would have hazarded the return voyage to her distant roots. As it was, she was gratified to be the first ever of the MacCreedy Clan to return to Scotland.

  Her mind pondered how her great-grandfather had been transported on a prisoner ship in the 1830’s. For nine years he had subsequently labored, a prisoner within the Barracks at Melbourne, somehow surviving perhaps the hardest of times for those who had been transported. Margaret mused to herself - such horrendous recompense for nothing more than having been suspected of being a residual Jacobite. But miraculously, survive he had, ultimately becoming a free man in Victoria.

  Due in no small part to old Kyle’s lifelong heroic efforts to restore the family nam
e, the MacCreedy’s had found considerable success in Melbourne. By the time Margaret had been born in 1895, her father had already owned rich lands west of Geelong. And though he had driven her mother into Melbourne within the buggy for the birthing, Margaret had grown from childhood on the ranch. Having learned at an early age to ride horseback, she was known to aimlessly chase kangaroos, dingoes, and wallabies, her long red hair undulating wildly in the breeze. What might have seemed a strange land to the outsider was naturally suited to the young Margaret, a fortunate and willing initiate to the rolling hills of Southern Australia.

  Perhaps unsurprisingly, she had grown into an intelligent, headstrong young lady. Unfortunately, she was also far too physically attractive for her own good so that, by the time she had reached the challenging age of eighteen, it was clear to her parents that something drastic would need to be undertaken in order to avoid her premature entrapment within an unsuitable marriage to one of the pigheaded local boys.

  Consequently, it had been forthwith determined that she should be diverted to Scotland for a fitting education, although Margaret had managed to forestall the commencement of it for nearly a year. Finally, in late February, the torpid heat of late summer baking the buggy ride into Melbourne, she had boarded ship, a first class passenger on a shiny new steamer, thanks to her parents’ generosity.

  And now, here she was - bound for Scotland - the land of her family’s roots, the mysteries of the unknown stretching out before her, riding somewhere out there, just beyond the roiling waves. And though she tried her best to peer beyond those waves, the shoreline she sought was yet three thousand miles distant.

  Edinburgh, Scotland – Early April, 1914

  Robert scanned himself in the mirror and, pronouncing himself as ready as he would ever be, he advanced forthwith from his apartment on High Street. His mind thoroughly focused on mischief of the worst possible sort, his newfound friends had conveniently invited him to a pub just down the hill from Edinburgh Castle, a place of dubious reputation appropriately named The Boar’s Head’s Behin’. He of course had no inkling what such an enigmatic title meant, but surely it must imply something at the very least clandestine, perhaps even opportunely lascivious. His hopes therefore stood high for an evening of satisfying and sorely needed revelry.

  In truth, although his studies at university could be rated as nothing short of exceptional up to this point in time, he had in his more than three months in Edinburgh as yet failed to experience even a moment’s pleasure. Perhaps this night might afford him a certain degree of diversion from his increasingly mind-numbing studies.

  Arriving at the pub, he shrugged his way from his coat, hung it on the coat rack and, advancing within, he searched about for his friends.

  “Och, here he is!” he heard a Scottish voice say. It was Alastair, his new-found friend from his physics class, the very source of his invitation tonight.

  “I say, how are you, Alastair?” he queried good-naturedly, and so saying, he slapped him on the back in a friendly gesture.

  “Stoatin,” Alastair responded and, turning to the young man on his left, he announced, “James, you remember Robert. Robert – James.”

  The pair shook hands, and James volunteered, “Och aye, ay course. Who coods forgit such a handsome devil!”

  At this, Robert winced with embarrassment, responding, “It’s not what’s on the outside that counts.”

  At this, a gorgeous young lady pushed her way forward from the small knot of students and volunteered unabashedly, “I don’t know about that, Mr. Robert. I for one would be most intrigued to explore what’s on the outside!” At this, the entire group broke into spontaneous giggles and ribald laughter, forcing Robert to grin in embarrassment at the stunning and apparently presumptuous apparition before him. Considering the depravity of her remark, not to mention the easy acceptance of it by her admirers, it was apparent to him that he was already at least one ale in arrears of the group arrayed before him.

  “Thes be Elizabeth, Robert. Robert Sutherland – Elizabeth Turnberry,” Alastair interjected.

  Robert grasped Elizabeth’s hand in greeting and, intending to appear serene, his blood pulsed madly at the sight of one so dazzling.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Elizabeth replied nonchalantly, “And these are my girlfriends, Kylie, Mackenzie, and Margaret.”

  Robert turned to appraise the remaining three, but was immediately struck by Margaret’s appearance, “Goodness! The two of you could be sisters! Well, perhaps not, but the red hair is absolutely identical! And those uniforms, they make you look almost identical to one another, at least from a distance.”

  “I know,” Elizabeth responded, “Isn’t it just too much? Everyone is absolutely amazed,” and then, changing the subject, she added, “Margaret’s just off the ship from Australia.”

  “I say!” Robert responded with feigned interest, noticing that she too was quite attractive, but not so much so as Elizabeth. “How long did it take - the passage - Miss Margaret?”

  “Almost five weeks,” the young lady before him responded politely, her unusual accent readily apparent to all. He took her hand, offering, “Welcome, Miss Margaret. Welcome to Scotland.”

  “Thanks mate,” she responded.

  Robert then turned and politely took the hands of the remaining two young ladies, in the process stealing a second glimpse of Elizabeth. He determined that she was definitely a force to be reckoned with, and if she proved to be susceptible, one to be pursued. He therefore made it his intention to focus as best he could on further attracting her attention. Turning back to her on completion of the introductions, he asked, “So, what might I ask, brings you here tonight, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “Oh, we’re out for a lark, we four. We have agreed that our university studies need just a bit of counterbalancing.”

  “It appears you’ve got off on the right step,” Robert responded above the hubbub within the bar. “Would it be presumptuous to say that the Behin’ has afforded just such a counterbalancing effect?”

  “It seems we’ve already voted, we four, and the vote was unanimous. The Behin’ is just the spot required to afford the proper balance to our studies,” she responded coyly.

  “I say! That is sporting of you, and quite fortunate for us lads, if I do say so!” Robert responded playfully. “And where might you hail from, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “I’m from England,” she responded with affected superiority, “York, to be exact.”

  “You don’t say,” he responded, tongue in cheek, “I’d never have guessed.”

  “Why? Where are you from, Robert?”

  “I’m from Gloucestershire,” he responded smugly.

  “I thought I detected an English accent,” she replied with apparent interest.

  “It seems my practiced Scottish brogue has failed miserably,” he replied pleasantly. “Actually, if truth be told, my family emigrated from Scotland to England some years back, but it seems it was to no avail.”

  “And when might that have been?” she queried.

  “Let me see,” he responded in mock sincerity, “That would have been, let’s see…oh, right - three hundred years ago.”

  She eyed him dubiously for a moment and replied succinctly, “Oh, I get it - a huckster. Too bad your attempt at humor missed the mark,” and it was clear from her tone that she was not in the least bit amused by his arrogant attitude.

  At this point the newly arrived young lady from Australia, who had obviously been listening attentively to the entire conversation, interjected with, “What’s England like, Robert?”

  “Best place on God’s green Earth!” he responded self-assuredly.

  “Is that so!” Margaret replied. “And how would you know, pray tell?”

  A bit ruffled by her forward manner, Robert responded, “What do you mean?”

  “Meaning, where have you been besides England and Scotland, sir?”

  “Er, nowhere, I suppose,” Ro
bert responded in evident embarrassment. Evasively turning back towards Elizabeth, he queried, “What must York be like, Miss Elizabeth?”

  At this she responded, “Oh, I don’t know. Not bad, I suppose,” but then she abruptly blurted, “Hey, wait a minute. I know you! You’re the son of the Earl, aren’t you?”

  Robert jerked about and, eyeing her, he responded defensively, “What is it to you?”

  “Ah, so I’m correct! You’re the heir to the Earldom of Winston,” and at this she paused, ran her hand through her long red hair, and posited, “Your family is filthy rich, I hear.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” he replied, by now clearly unsettled by her self-assured attitude. But privately, he was thinking to himself, “What do I do now? They both have me on the run. This is not working out the way I had hoped.”

  Elizabeth turned to Margaret, offering loudly for all to hear, “So, as you are new to the British Isles, let me do a bit of explaining for you. In the English system, an Earl is quite close to the top of the social ladder. We’re all about upbringing and title, you see. And young Sir Robert here is destined to be a snooty Earl one day. What that means is – we may bandy about with him, but he is not available for the taking, because his future is already quite determined, as befits members of the peerage.”

  Somewhat confused by the terminology, Margaret inquired, “What does ‘bandy about’ mean?”

  “You know – play patty fingers,” Elizabeth responded, affording Margaret a wink-laden meaningful glance.

  At this revelation, all four young ladies eyed Robert suspiciously, at which he felt compelled to respond, “Ah, Miss Elizabeth, I believe that you have described the situation rather accurately. However, I would beg to disagree on one or two minor points.”

  “And what points might those be?”

  “Well, first of all, I am certainly not an Earl yet. Secondly, I am quite a long way from home. In point of fact, I am not even within the country of England. I am in Scotland, where such social customs are not at all the same. And thirdly, I intend to have my own way when it comes to my future.” And at this last pronouncement, he accorded the ladies a piercingly sincere gaze that he hoped was not lost on them.

  “Harumph,” Elizabeth croaked cynically, “I find that to be a poor defense indeed. However, as you seem to be well-intentioned, I believe that I shall reserve judgment, at least for the time being. After all, I do find you to be a rather pleasant young man to look at, despite your rather questionable lineage.”

  The discussion having rooted out sufficient personal knowledge of the principle players, the social banter now turned to lighter fare. By midnight, the group had worn themselves down to a state of delectable mindlessness, as youngsters are wont to do. Indeed, the evening turned out to be everything and more than Robert had hoped for. For the first time since he had arrived in Edinburgh four months earlier, he felt optimistic that the third piece of his peerage puzzle might just be falling into place.