Chapter 30 Conchie Corps
Ned bounded up the stairs of Islington Town Hall, cursing the London traffic.
“Good afternoon, Colonel!” The guard saluted as Ned approached the entry. Ned quickly raised his hand to respond in kind, grimacing at the sloppy gesture. He really needed to practise more if he was going to be wearing a uniform in public.
Slowing down as he entered the large marble lobby, Ned glanced around for any indication of where he should be heading. He had agreed that he would meet Betty here, but he couldn’t find her face in the milling crowd.
“The tribunal is running late.” Hugh leaned against one of the green columns with The Times in hand.
“What are you doing here?”
Hugh folded the paper, careful not to get any ink on his hands. “Same as you, I suppose, to give Charles a bit of moral support.”
Ned was genuinely touched. He glanced around the lobby, and then nodded towards an empty hallway.
Once they were away from the crowds, Hugh said, “I presume I should be thanking you for the apology by the Home Secretary in Parliament last week?”
Hugh’s gross indecency trial had been in the headlines for most of January, especially when the defence lawyers brought out eyewitness accounts of local police out of uniform and loitering around the public toilets.
That, plus a stunning testimony by Hugh himself, had secured a complete dismissal of charges.
“I dislike seeing the reputation of His Majesty’s Government smeared by a police force that can’t figure out how to follow the law.” Ned let a grin spread across his face. “George is going to use this as leverage to go after the budget of the vice section.”
“Always happy to be a hero,” Hugh replied with a mock bow. Ned was happy to see Hugh return to form, hair impeccably combed and his suit pressed.
Apparently, Hugh didn’t feel the same about Ned’s attire.
“You look awful,” he said, looking Ned up and down. “That colour never suited you, and those circles under your eyes aren’t doing you any favours.”
Ned suppressed a sigh. “I’m getting old. I can’t figure out whether I’m Sisyphus rolling stones uphill or Prometheus waiting for my liver to be eaten. I seem to spend all my days questioning whether I’m making anything better at all.”
The political thrust and parry had never been why Ned did his job, but there had been a time where he had found an intellectual thrill in outthinking an opponent.
Even a year ago, he would have had some satisfaction at beating the Home Office at their own game, at keeping the government away from using gases, but nothing seemed to replace the bone-deep tiredness he felt.
Hugh reached out and straightened Ned’s tie and jacket. “I’ve often wondered what would happen if the legendary Edmund Pinsent was as ambitious with his own life as he is with solving everyone else’s problems.”
Before Ned could even fathom what that meant, a bell rang, and Hugh motioned to the stream of people entering one of the large wooden doors. “To the firing squad then?”
???
The tribunal had set up camp in what had originally been the committee meeting rooms of the town hall, an overdone rectangular room in that neoclassical style that had been in vogue in the early thirties.
The bright colours of faux marble were in stark contrast to the hushed crowd sitting in rows along the wooden benches.
A line of sombre men ran along one wall of the room, waiting their turn to be brought in front of the panel of four who sat on a raised dais.
Charlie was by far the oldest and the least agitated of the applicants.
He stood tall, staring straight ahead and listening attentively to the proceedings of the other objectors, face impassive.
The man currently in front of the tribunal was some religious hothead, here to make a scene and a political statement. Ned was reassured by the chair’s composure, remaining in control of the proceedings while also not dismissing the objector’s application out of hand.
He shifted awkwardly on the back bench where he was squished in with Betty, who was wearing her Sunday best as well as a large hat that Ned knew was Charlie’s handiwork.
“Mr Charles Villiers!” the clerk called out.
Charlie moved to stand in front of the panel with the casual indifference that used to drive officers crazy. Ned sent out a prayer that Charlie didn’t feel the need to be too contrary to authority today.
The chair flipped between the papers in front of him. “Your letter to the panel said you served in the Great War, Mr Villiers?”
“Yes, sir. Scottish Regiment of the 1st London Territorial, and then the motor pool of the general staff. Arrived in Flanders in November ’14 and decommissioned in July of ’19.”
That got some raised eyebrows from the audience, but the chair continued with his questions.
“I looked up your war record. You were written up for insubordination on a fairly regular basis, with one very serious field punishment for striking an officer in 1917.” Ned’s stomach twisted, Pemberton’s name would be all over that record and field punishment.
“Yes, sir,” Charlie responded. Q as There was a pause while the panel waited for an explanation, but Charlie remained impassive.
“This tribunal is for men with serious objections to combat, Mr Villiers, not troublemakers who can’t follow orders.” Ned pressed his nails into his palm at the chair’s insinuation.
“My objections are serious, sir.” This time Charlie did expand. “I know what it is to kill. I think a man’s soul can only take so much of death before he loses it entirely.”
“Your file also notes that you were awarded the Military Cross for bravery in rescuing injured fellows, all while under intense enemy fire.” This comment came from a man sitting at the end of the dais, younger than the rest, with a scar across his face.
His suit was ill-fitting, like it had been bought for another man.
Ned would put money on him being the labour representative.
The chair’s expression remained impassive, and he returned to his sheet.
For several awkward moments, there was nothing but the sounds of the audience, whispers, the rustle of clothing, a ticking clock.
As if to telegraph to the crowd that he was pondering a difficult question, the chair removed his glasses and leaned back to look up to the ceiling.
“Mr Villiers, not one to give credence to gossip, however, a deeply troubling accusation regarding self-harm to avoid serving is included in your military file. I would be remiss in my duty not to inquire. Therefore, my question is simple. Did you commit an act of self-harm during your previous service?”
Ned’s breath hitched. There was no going back now. Charlie had been adamant he wanted to face the question head-on, with his shoulders held high, and Ned had promised to stand right beside him.
Betty reached over and gripped Ned’s hand.
Charlie began to speak, “On 3rd May 1917, my division was part of an attack on the Scarpe. I was separated from the rest of my section. I advanced through No Man’s Land and came across a German soldier.
I shot him in the chest. Saw the look in his eyes as I did it.
Blue and so damn scared. If he didn’t deserve to live, I couldn’t see much point in doing so either.
I crawled to a shell crater, and slit both my wrists.
I wasn’t motivated by a desire to escape the front, but rather I wanted to ensure that I would die there. ”
The room was silent. Betty’s hand tightened around Ned’s.
Charlie continued, “I will forever be grateful that I was unsuccessful, thanks to the friends that found me and brought me back to British lines.”
The horrific truth was now a matter of public record. Ned didn’t know how to feel. He just knew he wanted to hold Charlie and run his hands through his curly hair.
“I’ve a question, Mr Villiers,” the labour representative interjected again. “Considering this past experience, why did you request an assignment to the Non-Combatant Corps on your application?”
“That’s my doing, I’m afraid.” Ned rose from his seat, his participation on this specific topic having been agreed on with Charlie. “Colonel Edmund Pinsent at your service.”
The panel could reach any number of verdicts today, including refusing Charlie’s request or requiring him to work in the National Service. Charlie had assumed the last option, but Ned had asked him to consider the NCC.
Ned made his way to the front of the room to stand beside Charlie. He ached to look at him directly but kept his focus on the stern men in front of them. “If I might be permitted to explain?”
The chair was sitting up straighter, clearly recognising Ned’s name and title. “Of course, Colonel, of course.”
“I am an advisor to the Cabinet on various elements of war strategy, in particular how we can make sure that the maximum effort is being applied to ensure victory for the Allied Forces. The NCC was established to make use of the talents of those whose consciences did not allow them to take a combat role. I’ll be honest with the panel, the stories I am hearing regarding the NCC are worrying.
The Corps is filled with young idealists, who disagree with each other as much as with their country, and is staffed by officers who are desperate to go and shoot something.
At this point any task they accomplish is considered a minor miracle by the War Office.
We simply can’t afford that type of waste.
What the NCC needs is some practical experience.
Someone who understands the military, who understands men who object to military service, and who has held a bloody shovel once before in his life.
In other words, it needs men like Mr Villiers. ”
“Even with a service record this chequered?” The chair’s face was impossible to read.
Ned plunged into that question without a second thought.
“I served with Corporal Villiers at the Somme, Amiens, and Ypres. Men ready to be heroes were easy to find in the trenches. Men like Mr Villiers were far rarer. Yes, sometimes he got in trouble, telling a joke to lift spirits when everyone should be standing at attention, or ignoring orders because a lad was losing his lunch and needed someone to hold his hand. It’s a simple heroism to run into gunfire.
Time and time again, Mr Villiers demonstrated a far more difficult heroism—telling the truth to authority.
He helped me be a better soldier, man, and leader then, and continues to do the same now. ”
Under his breath Charlie whispered, “Ned. Fuck.”
The same man now asked, “Mr Villiers, do you believe you can deliver what Colonel Pinsent is asking of you?”
“Get everyone to stop running around like chickens with their heads cut off and get the job done?” Charlie grinned. “I would be honoured.”
Charlie had been standing straight for the whole proceeding, but now his stance changed, no longer so defiant, but proud.
“Gentlemen, I think we have a resolution to Mr Villiers' application.”
Ned fought the urge to fall to his knees at the chair’s question.
There were four nods and the chair turned back to Charlie and Ned. “We will have the papers drawn up.”
???
“Jesus Christ,” Charlie exhaled on the steps of Islington Town Hall. “That was some speech, Ned.”
“Every word was true,” Ned replied with conviction.
“Still.”
They stopped on the steps, waiting for Betty, who was speaking with a former neighbour from Marylebone. “I know I was keen on the idea, but the NCC is what you want, isn’t it?”
Charlie’s broad grin erased any doubt. “Will be good to feel like my experience means something,” Charlie said, his face still turned towards the bustle on the street. “Kind of Hugh to come.”
“He always likes a bit of drama,” Ned said, and before he could say more, Charlie’s smile got even broader as his wife joined them.
“I swear that Mrs Patterson is the noisiest busybody that ever was,” Betty muttered, leaning up to give her husband a kiss on the cheek. To Ned’s complete surprise, she then did the same to him. “You were both marvellous.”
Ned cleared his throat while Charlie reached out to squeeze her hand.
The silence stretched out, comfortable and soothing in its own way. Understanding gently bounced between them has they slowly walked down towards the High Street.
“When will you need to report to this Conchie Corps?” Betty asked as they turned onto Upper Street.
“I’m to be in their barracks outside London in three weeks.” Charlie waived the papers in his other hand.
“Good. Give me a bit of time to fatten you up before you go. Also, if I remember anything about the army, you’re going to need about a dozen pairs of socks. And I’ll need the insurance information about the shop, I’m going to try to start getting that in order…”
Ned drifted out of the conversation, needing a moment to gather his thoughts. He rolled his shoulders to try to get the muscles to unlock.
Hugh’s words from earlier flitted through his mind. Had Ned really been less ambitious with his relationships than with the rest of his life?
The accusation felt almost comical considering how Ned had actively pursued illegal relationships for the better part of three decades. He was doing so right this minute.
Yet, when he looked back, those affairs had always been ephemeral, doomed to end before they began. Even Charlie, who Ned had tried to hold on to more than anyone else.
He looked at Charlie now, laughing at something Betty said, the rare London sun catching the auburn left in his curls. Today’s tribunal had been more ambitious, bolder, riskier than Ned would have ever done on his own. A risk that Charlie had pushed him to take and one that had left them stronger.
A vision of a life flashed before Ned’s eyes.
A future with Charlie, measured not in months or years, but decades.
A life filled with books, laughter, Betty, Frank, Ellie, friends, theatre, and travel.
Champagne and strawberries by the Thames.
Dragging each other to museums that the other one hated.
Dancing all night. Doing the dishes and going to bed.
The future Ned never let himself dream of having.
He squared his shoulders. He was Colonel Edmund Pinsent of Heyworth. He was going to make this future for himself.