THE COWARDS
THE COWARDS
She reached up to the mantelpiece between two recently-bought, shiny coronation mugs. Moving the mugs slightly, Lizzie picked up a photo. The brown framed picture showed three young soldiers in sergeants’ uniforms of the Royal Engineers each with a line of medals, including on the chest of one of the soldiers the unmistakable crimson ribbon of a Victoria Cross. She handed the picture of her two sons carefully to Alice. Lizzie Waldron hadn’t seen her old friend for ages. She was enjoying the excuse to reminisce about her younger son’s life, his childhood and his schooldays - and his army career.
“Have another cup Alice? ” as she poured the dark liquid and ensured her audience’s attention for another fifteen minutes.
“This is my two lads with their friend who rescued them. And let me show ye the postcards they sent me from Japan and Korea. That’s where Kevin was, in charge of the horrible bridge-building carry-on, ye remember?” Of course Alice remembered, because wasn’t it still talked about in the riverside pubs even now, three years later? Aye…it was Lizzie’s very own boys ….who would ever have thought it….young Kevin and Jimmy Waldron….?
“Aye….,” she sighed in half-disbelief, as her mind drifted back over the years . . . . .
The sewage smell of the Tyne was unmistakable when the wind was from the south bank at Hebburn. Old terrace houses stretched everywhere down to the shipyards of Swan Hunter about two hundred yards away. It was a January night in this huddled decrepid part of Wallsend. Just after Christmas was an empty season in your stomach, and who would ever have thought the soft Santa-snow so welcome a couple of weeks ago would have turned to icy slush now in the freezing cold of this winter. Turned to horrible ice, blocked the drains, and flooded the streets. The wireless said this year, 1947, would probably be a record for coldness.
“Here, Kevin, shove uz some more slush over this way and we can dam up the whole pathway with a wee lake.”
“Right, here’s a spadeful and it’ll fit in just there.”
Two brothers twelve or thirteen years old were playing in the darkened street, building ice dams across the flooded road and creating small meltwater lakes to launch off their stick boats. The sewage smell didn’t bother them. Suddenly, out from the darkness loomed Freddie Scott’s gang from the other side of the neighbourhood. They came from the oldest terraces right next to the slipways, where the weight of the massive ships made the ground sink and the house walls crack.
The two brothers knew well that this was trouble to be avoided. The gang was always in a pack of six - and now it was six against two - Scott’s favourite odds. What Kevin’s mum called coward’s odds. Scott’s crowd was a bit older and wasn’t interested in dam construction.
Scott yelled, “Howay! Let’s get them!”
They wanted a fight. Without hesitating, they started throwing big chunks of ice from the road at the dams. Then came the snowballs with ice-cores hurled at the two boys. Amid a hail of jibes and threats, the balls fell thicker and faster. The brothers replied with snowballs in defence. But neither Jimmy nor Kevin wanted a snow fight. Neither was a fighter. They ran.
At the front door of their house Jimmy scrabbled it open for Kevin, the smaller boy, who stumbled up the two steps; and Jimmy pushed him in first to safety. He always looked after his smaller brother. Now Kevin cringed behind the door, and at the same moment Jimmy slipped and fell on the ice outside. As the thud of ice-loaded snowball salvoes rattled the old door, the smaller boy panicked, and slammed the door shut. It shut with a bang and a satisfying click of the lock. He was safe inside.
Jimmy outside started yelling, “Let me in!” as he crouched in the shallow doorway with no protection from the incoming ice balls. Like an insect on a pin, as the harsh light of the street lamps focused their target for Scott’s gang, Jimmy’s body was pounded repeatedly with iceballs. He covered his face with his hands. The hysterical terrified Kevin didn’t open.
“Let me in Kev….let me in !”
After an eternity of perhaps four minutes, at last Kevin opened the lock and let him in, in tears and covered with scrapes, scratches and ice-impact marks, his clothing filled with ice shards. But though hurt and scared the bigger boy didn’t say anything harsh - just spluttered out in exhaustion and terror,
“Why did ye lock the door? Why? Why?”
He wiped his bruised face and half-sobbed, ”Ye should’ve opened the door! Ye should’ve opened it for me, ye should’ve, ye should’ve…, ”
But there was no trace of bitterness. Jimmy showed no inclination for retribution or anger, just grabbed a towel and cleaned off some icy mess and dabbed at his cuts and scrapes.
Every day after the episode Kevin waited for some sort of outburst of anger or punishment from Jimmy, but it never came. He couldn’t get it out of his mind. After a couple of days Jimmy had probably forgotten the episode but the younger boy couldn’t forget that he’d been such a plain coward - and had got no punishment for it. He felt awful, sick to his stomach, expecting Jimmy to smack him or something similar, but Jimmy behaved just as he normally did. After a couple of years, the whole episode - dams, ice-balls, sewage smell - was consigned to the fading dimness of memory. But it had a deep impact on Kevin. The young boy was determined he was never going to be a coward again, a decision which would affect his character for the rest of his life.
. . . . . . . Coming out of her distant thoughts, Kevin’s mother leaned her head closer to her friend and confided in a lower tone, “Alice, you remember the time they had a fight in the icy streets? I remember him telling me over and over again how bad and ashamed he felt …and him only a wee boy of twelve. How determined he was to be braver! That’s why he joined the army, ye remember? And then that awful minefield thing........”
“Yes, I remember it well, of course...... But thank God his leg healed up all right in the end.”
“Wasn’t it nice the way the papers described our lads last year?” whispered Lizzie, and she
reached up to a shelf and took down a well-thumbed scrapbook filled with press cuttings.
“Here, Alice, look at what the Daily Mail said. . . . ‘Three soldiers from Wallsend-on-Tyne were decorated for their actions in a major battle against heavy odds in Korea. Sergeants James and Kevin Waldron were awarded the Distinguished Service Order for securing a key bridge despite heavy fire from enemy mortar positions. Sergeant Frederick Scott was awarded the Victoria Cross for his single-handed rescue of the 15-man bridge platoon, ignoring personal danger and suffering extensive wounds in the process.’ . . . now isn’t that nice?” She read it aloud slowly and with justifiable pride.
As they nodded silently in pleasurable agreement and sympathy, a knock came to the front door. In no more than a few seconds, and without waiting to be invited, in strolled Freddie Scott, smartly dressed in full Royal Engineers uniform, shoulders back and with the gait of a close family friend who had been in this room countless times, and needed no formal invitation to come in.
“Well! Come on in, Lieutenant Scott” she said with a half-salute and a teasing little smile, recognizing his recent promotion. She got up and threw her arms around him, then held him back to look at him fully.
Freddie grinned, “Hello everybody - I’m only back for a couple of days and I’ve only got a few minutes, but wanted to drop in as usual and give ye this wee gift of a souvenir I got ye in Korea.”
“Oh, but surely ye must have time for a cup of tea? Aye, it’s beautiful, Freddie, thank you. How’s your mam keepin’ ? Haven’t seen her since she moved to the prefabs. ”
“Oh ok, ta very much Mrs. Waldron, tea would be lovely…oh, mam’s very well, thanks. She loves that prefab, and it’s got a garden as well, ye know.”
They chatted small talk about neighbours and local news but then Mrs. Waldron got down to something she really wanted to say.
“Listen to me a minute Freddie. I haven’t seen ye for two years and I wanted to say a real deep thank you for when ye rescued my Kevin from that minefield - it was so brave ...and nobody ever really told us anything about how......”
Freddie interrupted her with a raised hand and an embarrassed grin.
“Well, not much to tell really..... ye know Kevin - he was just unstoppable,” he laughed thoughtfully...
“You see, we were at a place we called The Hook. Kev got the bridge fixed and ordered the sappers back, but the bloody Chinese moved in closer. It was only then he saw that himself and Jimmy were trapped. Oh, excuse my bad language Mrs. Waldron.”
He sipped his tea and slowed down so the women could follow the strange military lingo.
“And that’s when Kev was hit in the leg and couldn’t move. Well, I says to the lads - aye, oh aye, we were all there, ye know, Mrs. Waldron. . . . there was me, your Jimmy, Harry, John Hepple and your Kev - I says , howay, let’s get them ! I started chuckin’ grenades, like, and just dashed over the bridge, and we got them out,” He laughed self-consciously and quietly hid his embarrassment behind his raised teacup.
“But it was ...well...kind of .... fearless.... Freddie......if it was up to me, lad, I’d have given ye two VCs,” and her eyes teared over as she raised her handkerchief. Alice put an arm round her shoulder and comforted Lizzie.
He laughed dismissively, “Why-no, no, they’d have done the same for me. . . .”
He changed topic quickly, “Er listen......Mrs. Waldron, will Kevin be here later on? Cos me and the lads want to celebrate Newcastle’s cup win and take him out to the Mem.. . . ”
The Memorial Hall was always a favourite with the lads for there were always lots of nice girls there to dance with.
Freddie swallowed his tea and went on a bit, ”. . . . Haven’t seen Kev - since him and the lads got their discharges......I could’ve left as well of course, but I wanted to stay on, ye know....I kind of like the army.... . moving around from place to place.”
She gazed at hIm for several long moments, dabbing her eyes, “Aye Freddie. He’ll be coming in soon enough..... ye’ll catch him here just after seven - when he comes home from work. Now drink up yon tea before ye go.”
“Are you going to take Maggie to the Mem?” she hinted with a little smile.
“Oh, you’re a mind reader. . . . ,” he smiled, “ ….do you think I’ve got a chance? I’m afraid to even ask her . . . .”
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