We continue with extracts from the first book of the Cunningham trilogy. Royston has joined the Canterbury Mounted Rifles at the invitation of the Army pilot who flew the Bleriot to Christchurch. August 1914 comes as a brutal surprise. “Cunningham, a moment please.” Royston turned abruptly at the sound of his name, collided with Jack and both dropped their books and papers. “Sorry, Jack. That was my fault,” Royston apologized. A tweed-suited faculty member stood watching them up scrabbling to recover their possessions. “Actually, it was most likely mine, Cunningham,” the caller smiled. “Professor Buckhorn asked me to speak with you. I understand that you hold a commission in the Canterbury Mounted Rifles?” “I do,” Royston acknowledged. “Well, I suggest you should be listening to the BBC World service if you are not already doing so.” “Why might that be important?” Royston asked. “It appears that Europe may be sinking into war yet again.” “How might that affect me?” Royston asked as he rose from the floor. “It might well have a very serious impact, Cunningham. Panoply of treaties and ententes could well drag the United Kingdom into the conflict and thus our distant former colony in support.” “I am sorry, I do not know who you are,’ Royston said in a frantic attempt to buy time so he could assimilate the import of the words over his pounding heart. “I am also sorry to be the harbinger of this bad news to you. I am Mickleson, head of the History Department. Buckhorn also tells me you have been granted a scholarship to study at Cambridge.” Royston looked at Jack. “We have not been awarded our degrees so I do not know whether I have a scholarship,” Royston said. “We just finished our finals this week.” “I am told that you have been awarded a first, Cunningham. You have a second, Simpson. You have my congratulations for the tremendous effort you both put in to finish in two years. I am afraid however, that a major European conflict with England involved would most likely put a stop to any thoughts of a Cambridge scholarship.” “Professor Mickleson,” Royston said his face pale as he sank into the floor beneath him. “You have just knocked all of my foundations away. Could we please take a moment so I may understand what is happening?” “Please come to my study.” Mickleson turned away and strode down the corridor. Royston followed, numbness spreading through his body. Mickleson gave a potted history of the decades-long buildup of Russian, French and particularly German military posturing. He recounted the climatic assassination of the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne by a Serbian dissident and how, just two days earlier, Austria had declared war on Serbia. “How can that possibly lead to a war between European powers?” Royston cried his anguish audible. “I don’t even know where Serbia is on the map!” Professor Mickleson stood and pointed to Serbia on a world map. “Nor should you, Cunningham. Serbia is embedded in the Austro-Hungarian littoral and of no strategic significance.” “Why do you say England will be involved then?” Royston asked his anxiety palpable. “The BBC Overseas Service is reporting that Russian forces began general mobilization today. It was inevitable that Russia would go to the aid of Serbia to protect the Russian Orthodox religion which is native to Russia and to Serbia. As was also inevitable, Germany declared war on Russia late this afternoon in support of Austria. France has also ordered general mobilization.” Royston slumped back in his chair. “And England will follow suit?” “Yes. I am afraid that Russia, Austria and Germany are at war in the East while England and France will support Belgian neutrality, which I firmly believe Germany will violate. It is quite reasonable to assume that France and Germany are headed for conflict in Western Europe, which will drag Britain and thus us in a patriotic fervor not untypical of the Second Boer War fiasco. As you already hold a commission, you will be called up first.” Royston stared at the office wall covered in maps. “So a fanatical dissident has created a European war?” “Not really. The Germans have been preparing for this conflict through military build-up, bluster and arrogance over the last twenty years. The French believe they can defeat any German aggression through élan although as a precaution they made an extremely unpopular move when they raised conscription to three years just last year. The French too have been preparing for war.” “You do not approve of this war, Professor?” “I do not although you will never hear me say those words; it would be the end of my career as a lecturer as I would be seen as unpatriotic. Sadly, I believe there are many in our small, distant country who believe England can do no wrong.” Royston stood. “Thank you for telling me all of this; I shall treat it with the privacy it deserves. I must go and share this disastrous news with my wife. Good bye.” “Good bye, Cunningham and good luck.” Elizabeth was distraught and nothing Royston could say was of any help. “You have worked so hard to earn a scholarship and we have been preparing for this journey for months” Elizabeth wailed said between sobs. “How can a war possibly happen?” As though the realization of her words had just occurred to her, Elizabeth looked at him. “Oh Royston, does it mean you will have to go and fight?” “I am afraid it does,” Royston said anticipating another flood of tears. “Really?” Elizabeth snapped firmly and threw her handkerchief down. “I will be among the first to be called up,” Royston said softly. “Then I had better stop being a self-pitying, silly girl and become a wife and mother,” Elizabeth declared. “I shall go to Mount Somers and live with your family.” She put both hands under her swollen belly and pulled herself to her feet. “Which means I shall also learn to drive. You can start teaching me today. Come along, Royston; we will need a valise of my things please. I will get my coat.” “Are you sure you should learn to drive in your present condition?” Royston asked and regretted the question as soon as uttered. Elizabeth gave him a scathing look. “I was raised on a farm, Royston. I know what pregnancy is and what pregnant females can do. Now do come along. We do not have all day otherwise it could jolly well be quite dark before I arrive at Mount Somers.” “Elizabeth, Mount Somers is almost seventy miles,” Royston protested. “Then you will have ample opportunity to teach me during the journey,” Elizabeth said in a manner that terminated Royston’s further negotiations. Royston shrugged and then grinned. “I’ll get our valises and prepare a hamper. We will make a winter picnic of the journey.” “Just get a move on!” As Royston was packing his valise, hanging in the rack of coats and jackets was his uniform; he pulled it from the rack and held his symbol of service in front of him. Royston shook himself from contemplation and packed uniform with other clothes. Hamper, bags, rugs and Jessie hastily stowed, Elizabeth drove through the midday Christchurch traffic with a fixed look and utmost determination. Twice, Royston had to take the wheel and steer her away from an innocent horse and cart. By the time they reached the Ashburton Road, Elizabeth was very much in control of the Ford’s direction. Stopping and starting would have to come later; she had been moving forward continuously since leaving the courtyard much to Royston’s relief. By the time they started down the much-rougher Thompson’s track, it was getting dark and Elizabeth had to stop for regular bladder relief. To Royston, she looked exhausted. “Shall I take over?” Royston asked for the tenth time. “No! I have to be able to drive between Mount Somers and Christchurch when you are gone so I will do it myself. How much further is it anyway?” “About twenty minutes.” “That will be quite far enough though,” Elizabeth said wearily. She looked down at the dog under Royston’s feet. “Wont it, Jessie?” she asked brightly. Jessie’s adoring supplication was all Elizabeth needed. “Come on then you two,” Elizabeth said to Jessie and Royston together, “we are going to Mount Somers.” Elizabeth steered into the Mount Somers yard and looked down at the pedals. “How do you stop this thing again, Royston?” she asked without a twinge of embarrassment. Royston quickly put his feet on the pedals and brought the Ford to a graceful stop as Roderick came from the house to greet them. “My goodness, Elizabeth,” Roderick said in open admiration. “Did you drive?” “All the way,” Royston said with a grin. “And I am ruddy well stiff, sore and need to pee,” Elizabeth added as she clambered down supported by Roderick’s strong arms. “I think a nice warm bath might be the best thing,” Roderick said looking at Royston askance. Royston shrugged, his palms held uppermost. Warm, fed and dressed for bed, Elizabeth shared the news that Royston had been awarded a First in Mechanical Engineering. As the congratulations died, Royston told his parents the news they had also received about the strong potential for war, which could involve New Zealand. Elizabeth broke the news that Royston would be among the first to be called-up making a scholarship in England an impossibility. “Royston will go overseas to fight,” Elizabeth went on. “When he does, I should very much like to come and live here at Mount Somers until he comes back.” “We will love to have you stay with us,” Eleanor said giving her a hug. “Why not the Gorge though?” “It is too far from hospital and doctor to give birth and raise a baby and I am so much more comfortable here,” Elizabeth said. “Anyway, I’m sure Mama would be anxious as the birth approached and send me down to Christchurch. We have Ashburton close to Mount Somers.” “And your being here and able to drive means I do not have to go shopping by buggy anymore,” Eleanor laughed. “We shall give you Royston’s room. You and I will make it absolutely lovely and add a crib. I am saddened to hear about our descent into war yet so glad you decided to join us, Elizabeth.” Early the next morning, Royston and Elizabeth drove to the offices of the Ashburton Guardian and purchased the first newspaper off the press. They anxiously read the long, rambling address by Sir Edward Grey, the English Foreign Secretary to the Commons the previous day. “What on earth is he saying?” Elizabeth demanded as Royston raced through the text. “I have no idea; it is a masterpiece of obfuscation. What I think he means is that Britain will guarantee Belgium’s neutrality.” “What does that mean?” “It appears that Germany has told Belgium that German troops will go through their territory to attack France. The Germans are already in Luxembourg which has a common border with Belgium.” “Why should Britain be concerned about Belgium?” Elizabeth demanded. “What Grey tells us is that Britain masterminded a pan-European treaty in 1820 to set up Belgium as a country and what I think he is trying to say is that Britain cannot abandon its prodigy.” “That is such a feeble excuse to go to war, surely.” “My problem, Elizabeth is that I have no idea what is a good excuse to go to war,” Royston said hopelessly. They read the paper avidly each morning. On the Third of August, Professor Mickleson’s forecast came to pass as Germany declared war on France. England demanded the neutrality of Belgium which the Germans did not acknowledge. When a troop of mounted German Uhlans crossed from Luxembourg into Belgium, England declared war on Germany. Anxious Cunninghams joined a crowd outside the Guardian office in Ashburton the next day listening to a broadcast from parliament buildings in Wellington as New Zealand’s prime minister, William Massey declared war on Germany and Austria. The Ashburton crowd joined in with broadcast cheers at the news. The Cunninghams were silent; they left the crowd to their celebration and Elizabeth drove back to Mount Somers. The Ashburton Guardian printed the government’s call-up for reservists on the front page. Royston was to report to Canterbury Mounted Rifles at their new headquarters; the very home the Cunninghams had shared with Jack Simpson until a week ago. Now driving with quiet competence, Elizabeth drove Royston to Ashburton to catch the train to Christchurch. They had a somber lunch together at the Railway Hotel where several people came up to their table to congratulate Royston in his uniform. Most made it clear that this was an exciting adventure and that Royston was jolly fortunate to be supporting Britain. They walked to the station and stood holding each other as the train drew in. “I will be fine with your parents, Royston.” “I know; I just wish that we were going together.” “You will be home for Christmas, darling. Everybody says so.” “Elizabeth, I shall be gone for a year or more. It will take months to get to Europe and into battle. I love you and shall miss you. Please tell me everything about our child.” “I love you, Royston and I have Eleanor to assist me. We will be fine.” Royston tightened his arms around Elizabeth until she grunted. He turned without a word not trusting his voice and climbed onto the train. Scrambling among passengers, Royston found a window. “Bye, darling,” Elizabeth shouted as the train gushed smoke and steam as it gathered way. “I love you.” “I love you,” Royston shouted back over cheers from the platform as Elizabeth disappeared in a cloud of steam. Royston looked around for a seat; the carriage was full. A conductor called to him. “Officers in First Class, sir. This way.”
Posted on: Tue, 27 Jan 2015 15:14:33 +0000
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