Dear all
A hundred years ago… the British, French, Belgian and
German Armies hammered each other on the Western Front while their new-fangled entrenchment
tactics bogged them down, the British Indian Army set off for Mesopotamia, the
Canadian Expeditionary Force sailed for England, the Serbs began their losing
battle for Belgrade against German and Austro-Hungarian Armies — and in
Edmonton, north London, my father Sam, 16, and older brother Ted, 18, had to
face the Vicar, and tell him they had volunteered, joined the Army, and could
no longer attend choir practice nor Boy Scout training sessions.
FOOTSOLDIERSAM SPEAKS
The Reverend Mr
Frusher (an alias my father gave him in the book) influenced the brothers’
youthful development more than any other man — certainly more than their quiet,
mild, rather defeated father did. From talking to my father a lot through my
own teens (in the ’60s)
and reading his Memoir’s extensive account of his childhood, my feeling is that
he had a rather hangdog time of it because of sheer grinding poverty — until,
encouraged by Mr Frusher, he started joining… the Scouts, the choir, a church
discussion group, music lessons — all organised by the vicar (NB, new readers,
in the first part of the book my father wrote in the third person and called
himself “Tommy Norcliffe”):
“Suddenly a change occurred for Tommy. In charge
of the Scout Troop was a cultured man, whose name I’ve mentioned in passing —
Mr Frusher, who was also the vicar, the organist and choirmaster at the parish
church… He approached Tommy at one of the Scout gatherings and said, ‘I’d like
you to join the church choir. Ask your parents if they will be agreeable. It
will mean you changing your church.’ The full C of E church — as opposed to
their familiar ‘tin’ mission [a small church established literally as a mission
to London’s poor]— was a mile and a half further away from Tommy’s house.
… Picture Mr Frusher of medium height, well-built, wearing a beard,
pointed, and the then fashionable pince-nez. Most days he wore a frock coat
with a silk hat and striped trousers. Tommy used to love looking at the boots
he wore; without toecaps, of fine soft leather, kept in good condition by his
housekeeper.”
For
the vicar’s music classes, the children could only afford flageolets — “big
brother of the tin whistle,” says Sam (who kept it about his person until
Gallipoli, as you may read). However, a year or two on, Sam’s mother took in an
old, out-of-tune piano for the parlour and Sam/Tommy determined he would tune
it. A friend made him a key to fit the screw at the top of each string, Mr
Frusher leant him an A tuning fork, and he set to work, day after day.
When he was done, Mr Frusher came round and
played the thing “with a degree of pain”, but so appreciated the boy’s efforts
he offered him free piano lessons which proved so effective that within weeks Sam/Tommy
debuted in front of his classmates playing “a popular piece of the day called
Blake’s March… and Tommy’s performance became a regular feature of Friday afternoons
for several weeks in succession.”
Well, this long story needs concluding, but
the vicar not only inspired Sam/Tommy’s lifelong and practical love of music — see
the story of the “rifle-guitar” on the Western Front — but in those discussion
groups he also educated the boys about sex and relationships, a topic neglected
by schools then and for most of the century to come. His approach you might
call chivalric-puritan. No sex before marriage, a gentlemanly refusal to
exploit the consequences of “girls’ natural child-bearing urges”, self-denial
of the joys of masturbation and, even in sleep, avoidance of “night losses” by
tying a cotton reel round your waist so that if you rolled on to your back you
would wake up before anything messy occurred.
All this had a huge influence on Sam/Tommy’s
conduct throughout the war, as you may read. Anyway, in sum, that’s why it was
such a big deal when the lad realised that he would soon be saying goodbye to
Mr Frusher and everything the vicar’s energy, dedication and moral deliberation
had brought to his young life:
“… in all the excitement, [Tommy]
had overlooked Thursday evening’s meeting of his troop. In fact, having become
a soldier, the thought of putting on the uniform of a Boy Scout suddenly seemed
incongruous — more so when he briefly imagined appearing in front of the mass
of men among whom he had spent recent days, wearing the dented frontiersman’s
hat, khaki shirt adorned with various badges and shoulder ribbons, short, blue
knickers and bare knees, with, final touch, in his hand a stout five-foot
staff. Yes, what sort of greeting would this apparition receive from that mixed
crowd? Horrible thought.
That
Saturday afternoon, Ted and Tommy went along to the hall where the troop
assembled. They intended to tell Mr Frusher they were now soldiers and would
therefore have to give up membership of the troop… They would have a few words
with the governor, then walk out, severing the association of several years
just like that.
‘There
you are, at last, and not in uniform. Is something wrong, Mr Norcliffe?’ This
to Ted, now a qualified assistant Scoutmaster, therefore addressed as a man. ‘Do
please tell me about it.’ Ted explained and Mr Frusher’s usually pale face
flushed. This may have been due to relief that nothing awful had occurred in
the Norcliffe family, but Tommy, studying the governor’s bearded face,
suspected that annoyance really caused the blush, which was accompanied by
three rapid blinks and a long stare — signs of his inner struggle to subdue
anger.
When
Ted ventured to speak of leaving the Scouts, back came the assertion, ‘Once a
Scout, always a Scout!’ and the brothers found themselves assigned to their
respective duties for that afternoon and getting on with them — after having
exchanged glances which conveyed the advisability of tolerance and co-operation
at this juncture.
Tommy’s
feelings were strangely mixed. Facing his patrol he felt it was good to be back
among familiar faces and subjects and where his falsehood regarding his age was
of no consequence… He knew the new life to which he was committed would have
some awful periods, but youthful optimism kept him from dwelling on such
possibilities…
The
meeting over, Mr Frusher called his seniors together, and told them of the
brothers’ enlistment… The brothers promised they would give what help they
could in future, but they said their goodbyes just in case military duties
prevented their return.
The
farewells might have been said with deeper regret had those present been able
to foresee that years would pass before the few who survived would be able to
get together again.”
All the best — FSS
Next week: Military discipline takes hold
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