Brothers In War

Book 9: Retallick Saga

by E.V. Thompson

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

1915: Ben Retallick is asked by a War Office friend to provide two traction engines for a secret expedition attempting to take two gunboats overland from Cape Town to Lake Tanganyika - more than 3,000 miles - to wrest control of the lake from the Germans. He sends engines with young Ruddlemoor as the driver, who meets a Portuguese East African nurse and takes her side against a group of white racist south Africans.

Meanwhile Antonia St Anna is influential in having Ben released, when he is arrested on circumstantial evidence provided by a business rival and accused of being pro-German.

In Brothers in War, E. V. Thompson returns to his acclaimed Retallick saga, immersing the family in the upheaval of the First World War and, through them, creating a captivating tale of love and war, loyalty and betrayal, loss and adventure that weaves its way from Cornwall to the uncharted territory of the depths of Africa - and an eventful conclusion in Cornwall once more.

Release date: July 5, 2012

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 416

Sample

‘You may have a Cornish name, Retallick, but you are not a Cornishman and never will be, not if you live to be a hundred, so I suggest you stop trying to tell Cornishmen what to do with a business that some of us have been in for much of our lives.’

The speaker was Brigadier General (retired) Sir Robert Grove, and he was so angry that his drink-induced ruddy complexion had taken on a purple hue.

Ben Retallick had seen such outbursts from the irascible old man before, but he was taken aback by the present paroxysm. It had been brought about by Ben’s suggestion that the owners of the Cornish china clay works should supply their product to the British government at the lowest possible price as a gesture of support during the difficult months of 1915. The days when treated clay was used solely for the manufacture of pottery and porcelain were long past. It now had a great many uses, many vital to the war effort.

As the owner of Ruddlemoor, the largest clay workings in Cornwall, Ben had called a meeting of the other clay works owners, thinking they would agree with his suggestion – in principle, at least. Instead, he had met unexpected opposition from Sir Robert, a man whose army career had brought him a great many rewards, including a knighthood, and who might have been expected to be more patriotic than any other man in the room.

Hiding his surprise, Ben replied to the personal attack. ‘I don’t think my Cornishness has anything to do with the issue under discussion, Sir Robert. I am merely suggesting that we make a joint gesture of support for the war effort. It would certainly be appreciated by the families of men who are risking their lives in Europe … many of whom are Cornishmen.’

‘You can think what you like, Retallick … suggest what you like too. I have done my duty to this country and have nothing to prove, so I’m damned if I’m going to risk bankrupting myself by making a gesture of support for this government. The best thing we can all do is ensure that our companies remain in profit in order to provide work for men when they return from the war.’

‘I am not suggesting we sacrifice our companies, Sir Robert, merely that we do not take advantage of the difficult times in which we live in order to make an excessive profit.’ Ben spoke with a patience he did not feel.

His anger unabated, the retired brigadier brushed Ben’s argument aside. ‘Profit is the life-blood of business, Retallick. No company can exist without it. Times are just as difficult for the clay business as for the government. There is no sense in shooting ourselves in the foot by cutting prices.’

There was agreement from many of the assembled works owners and Ben was almost ready to concede defeat when the door to the meeting room opened unexpectedly and one of the girls who worked in the Ruddlemoor office appeared in the doorway.

‘I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr Retallick, but there’s a telegram for you.’

Irritated by the interruption, Ben said, ‘You take it for me, Millie. Tell the telegram boy I’m in the middle of a meeting.’

‘The telegram’s been brought here by postmaster Williams, Mr Retallick. He says he should give it to you himself. He says it’s from Switzerland.’

Ben’s attitude changed immediately. His wife Lily was a patient in a Swiss clinic. Suffering from a serious lung complaint, she had been there since before the war erupted in Europe in 1914. Although there had been initial cause for great anxiety, she had eventually begun to make steady progress. Recent reports from the clinic had been optimistic.

‘All right, Millie, I’ll come right away …’ Turning to the others in the room, he said, ‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I believe the telegram contains news of my wife.’

The men in the room knew of Lily’s illness, and although they were in disagreement with him about business affairs murmurs of sympathy followed Ben from the meeting room.

Postmaster Henry Williams waited in Ben’s office, a yellow telegram envelope in his hand. Holding it out towards Ben, he said, ‘This just came for you, Mr Retallick. I knew you would want to see it right away. As both our boys are out delivering messages I thought I should bring it to you myself.’

‘Thank you, Henry.’ Even as he spoke, Ben was ripping open the envelope. Reading the message, he tried unsuccessfully not to allow his elation to show, aware that the postmaster was watching him closely.

‘I am pleased to be the bearer of happy tidings, Mr Retallick,’ the postmaster beamed. ‘I am sorry to have interrupted your meeting, but I know you have been waiting for such news for a very long time … will there be any reply?’

‘No … yes.’ Ben contradicted himself very quickly. ‘Send a reply to Lily saying, “Wonderful news. Will come as soon as I can. Love, Ben.”’

As the St Austell postmaster left, Ben stepped to one of the windows and looked out. He remained at the window for a long time, until one of the older women who had worked at Ruddlemoor for many years and knew his wife well came into the room from the outer office. Approaching Ben, she said, ‘The telegram, Mr Retallick … is it bad news about Lily?’

Turning towards her, he broke into a happy smile. ‘No, Ruth, it’s good news … very good news. The doctor says she’s made such excellent progress that I can go to Switzerland and bring her home as soon as it’s convenient for me to make the journey.’

‘That’s wonderful! Oh, the staff in the office will be absolutely delighted for you. It’s what we have been waiting to hear for so long. When do you think you’ll be leaving?’

‘I’ve been trying for more than a month to get permission to go to see her, but without success. The British government has banned all civilian travel across the Channel for the time being and they’ve said they cannot make an exception for me. But I’ll try even harder now. They’ve got to let me go and fetch her.’ Ben was silent for a few moments, then he said, ‘I’m going home now to telephone the Foreign Office and try to persuade them to change their minds. Send someone up to the meeting to tell them what’s happening. I don’t want to go back and discuss business matters just now.’

With that, Ben turned away and strode from the office.

Riding home to Tregarrick, his home in the Pentewan valley, Ben wondered what could possibly be done to obtain the necessary permission to travel to Switzerland.

He could understand the government’s policy about civilian travel to the Continent. Every available vessel was being used to carry soldiers and essential supplies to the battle front. Unfortunately, they were suffering heavy losses. German submarines – the dreaded U-boats – were sinking any vessel found in British waters, regardless of its nationality. By this tactic the German High Command hoped to prevent urgent supplies and reinforcements from reaching the battle lines that stretched across the breadth of France, at the same time starving Great Britain into submission.

Already almost half a million tons of merchant shipping had been sunk, including a number of ships flying the flags of countries not involved in the conflict between the warring nations. So far Germany had ignored the protests of the neutral countries.

Whether or not such a policy might eventually succeed, it was certainly hitting Britain hard – and affecting the clay industry too. The Cornish china clay companies had always sold much of their product to overseas buyers, but ships were no longer coming in to the tiny undefended harbour at nearby Charlestown. It was just one of many problems that had convinced Ben that the china clay producers should be working together.

Suddenly, Ben’s thoughts were interrupted and he brought his horse to an abrupt halt in the narrow main street of St Austell town. A party of wounded and disabled soldiers were crossing the road in front of him. Their loose blue jackets identified them as convalescents from the nearby hospital.

It was late May, and the British army was locked in battle with its German counterpart in the trenches of France and Belgium – and suffering appalling casualties. The numbers were such that when they were sent back to England the military hospitals were unable to cope and many thousands of wounded soldiers were being treated in civilian hospitals throughout the land.

Ben drew in his breath sharply as a wounded soldier supporting his weight on crutches slipped on a cobbled section of road. He would have fallen to the ground had not a uniformed medical orderly walking beside him reacted quickly and caught him.

Escorting his charge to the pavement, the orderly turned and came back to where Ben sat on his horse. ‘Thank you for your patience, sir. Some of the men find it difficult to manage.’ He spoke with a strong Irish accent.

Nodding acknowledgement of the orderly’s words, Ben asked, ‘Where are you taking them?’

‘To the public house just up by the church, sir. The landlord lost his son at Ypres and he makes us welcome. Regrettably, not all landlords show the same understanding of the needs of wounded men.’

Reaching inside a pocket, Ben pulled out his wallet. Extracting all the banknotes it contained, he handed them down to the surprised orderly. ‘Here, see that the men need to pay for nothing. If the money runs out tell the landlord that Ben Retallick will settle his bill. He knows who I am. I wish your charges a speedy recovery.’

Ben rode on while the orderly was still calling down the blessings of the Almighty upon him. The plight of the soldiers had brought home to him once again how Lily had suffered under the illness that had affected her for so long. He had desperately wished that she too might one day be a convalescent. Now she was fit enough to return home and he hoped that many of the soldiers he had just seen might soon be declared fit too. Unfortunately, those who made a full recovery would immediately be sent back to the battle front, to risk their lives once more.

Thoughts of Lily and what the future held for them took the place of concerns about Ruddlemoor for the remainder of the ride to Tregarrick. She was still on his mind when he rode up the tree-lined driveway to the house and saw a motor car parked on the gravel outside the main entrance. It was a dull green coloured Vauxhall staff car with a military number plate.

Ben could think of no one who would come to visit him in such a vehicle. After delivering his horse into the care of a groom he was met at the doorway to the house by his housekeeper, the ageing Mrs Rodda.

‘You have a visitor, sir,’ she said. ‘He’s been here for an hour or more. I suggested that he came to see you at Ruddlemoor, but he said he would prefer to wait for you here and speak to you in private.’

‘What sort of visitor, Mrs Rodda? Is he a soldier?’

‘Yes sir, and a very important one I’d say. I’ve put him in your study with a cup of tea and some cake. His driver is being looked after by Cook, in the kitchen.’

‘An army officer to see me?’ Ben was puzzled. ‘Did he give you a name, or say why he is here?’

‘He did say who he was, sir, but I was that flummoxed that I really can’t remember who he said he was – except that he introduced himself as a general, or something similar.’

‘Well, I suppose there’s only one way I can find out who he is and why he’s here. Have some tea sent to my study for me please, Mrs Rodda.’

As the housekeeper hurried off to the kitchen, Ben made his way to the study. When he entered the room a tall, distinguished-looking man wearing a tailored army uniform rose to his feet. He seemed vaguely familiar, but Ben was unable to place him immediately.

As his guest advanced across the room, Ben observed that he walked with a noticeable limp, but he greeted Ben with a warm smile and, extending his hand, said, ‘Ben! Please accept my apologies for descending upon you without notice, but it’s good to see you again. Time has been very kind to you.’

Still at a loss about the identity of his unexpected visitor, Ben shook the extended hand. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid you have the advantage. Your face is familiar, but …’

‘There is no need to apologise, Ben; it has been many years. About thirteen, I believe. You were no more than a lad then. We met at Insimo. I am Carey Hamilton.’

Ben was taken aback by mention of Insimo, his family home in Matabeleland, now part of the country recently named Rhodesia in honour of its founder, Cecil Rhodes. But he was now able to identify his visitor.

‘Of course! Forgive me for not recognising you immediately. As I recall, you were a captain when we first met – and a lieutenant colonel when you finally left Africa. But, as my housekeeper was quick to observe, you have become a very important man now.’ He indicated the red tabs on the lapels of Carey’s uniform jacket, each decorated with a plaited cord of gold braid.

‘Well … I am a lieutenant general, it’s true, but thanks to an encounter with a German shell last year I am now in charge of nothing more exciting than a desk in the War Office, where generals are more common than orderlies.’

The sympathy expressed by Ben in response to his visitor’s words was genuine. He had known Carey Hamilton during the Anglo-Boer war, when the officer’s skill and daring had won him rapid promotion. Ben had been too young to be involved in actual fighting during that African war, but Adam and Nat, his two brothers, had taken part in the conflict, Nat, the older of the two, acting as a scout for Carey Hamilton and other senior British officers in South Africa. When the war ended Nat had returned to Matabeleland to take charge of Insimo once more. Adam, younger and wilder than his brother, had fought against the British as a member of a Boer commando, eventually marrying an Afrikaans girl and settling down to farm in South Africa when hostilities had ceased.

Ben assumed that Carey Hamilton’s War Office duties had brought him to Cornwall and he was delighted when the officer agreed to stay the night at Tregarrick. It meant the two men would be able to spend the evening chatting of old times and of the men and women they had both known in Africa, including Carey’s sister Thomasina, widow of an officer who died in South Africa during the Boer war.

Ben had once believed Thomasina would marry his brother Nat – and he believed Nat had thought so too. Instead, Thomasina had become the wife of a titled diplomat and Nat had married a girl who was almost as wild as his brother Adam. Indeed, she had herself been shot and severely wounded whilst riding with a Boer commando. It was Nat who had helped to save her life.

But Ben had some urgent private business of his own to attend to first. While a meal was being prepared for them both he told Carey about Lily, and the telegram he had received at Ruddlemoor that day.

Expressing his delight with the news of Lily’s recovery, Carey asked, ‘Do you expect to be successful in obtaining a permit to travel to France, Ben?’

‘I would like to say yes, Carey,’ Ben replied, ‘but experience has taught me that when dealing with government departments rules and regulations take precedence over personal problems.’

Carey Hamilton was seated in a leather chair in Ben’s comfortable study. Suddenly he leaned forward, his relaxed air disappearing. ‘I have a confession to make to you, Ben. My visit is not entirely social – even though I am delighted to be able to share your company in this beautiful house. I am here to ask a favour of you – a favour that, I hope, will make a very significant contribution to the war. Now I can see a way of repaying you. If you agree to come with me to London for a couple of days and speak to some of my colleagues in the War Office, I will guarantee to obtain a pass for you to travel to Switzerland to bring your wife home. Indeed, if you come to London prepared for the journey, you can carry on to Switzerland from there and so save yourself a great deal of time.’

For a moment Ben was speechless with surprise, but he decided he would leave his questions unasked for now. All that was important was obtaining the necessary permission to travel to Switzerland.

‘I don’t know what you could possibly want from me, Carey, but whatever it is it is yours if you can arrange for me to go to Lily. When do we leave for London?’

Carey was prevented from giving Ben any more details of what would be required from him in exchange for the permit to go to fetch Lily home by the arrival of a maid to say that dinner was ready. It was not until after the meal, when the two men were once more in the study, that Ben asked his companion for an explanation.

‘I can’t think why I should suddenly be of such importance to you,’ he said. ‘Is it something to do with the china clay industry – or do you want me to turn my works over to manufacturing munitions?’

‘Neither, Ben. It is your knowledge of Africa that I, and senior members of the War Office, urgently need. But before I say any more I must swear you to absolute secrecy about what I am going to tell you.’

Thoroughly intrigued, Ben said, ‘Of course, but I can’t imagine what knowledge I possess that can be of such significance to you and the War Office. After all, I have been away from Africa for some years now.’

‘That may be so, Ben, but before I say any more am I correct in thinking that you have travelled northwards from Matabeleland through Northern Rhodesia and the Belgian Congo, as far as Lake Tanganyika?’

‘Yes, I once took a party of Matabele warriors with me and spent a season hunting in the area – but surely there’s no fighting going on up there?’

‘Not yet, but Lake Tanganyika forms much of the border between German East Africa on one side and the Belgian Congo and part of Northern Rhodesia on the other. Unfortunately, we have allowed the Germans to build gunboats and station them there. As a result, they control the lake – and with it the tribes who depend upon it for their livelihood. It is making life very difficult for us. Recently, someone came to us with a plan that we hope might change the situation – and it has become very important that we do so. Somehow or other we must wrest East Africa from the Germans, but without control of the lake it will not only prove extremely difficult, but be likely to cost the lives of a great many of our soldiers.’

Still uncertain what Carey Hamilton wanted from him, Ben said, ‘I’ll do anything I can to help you, of course, but I still don’t know how …’

‘You have already told me that you can help, Ben. You’ve spent time in the Congo – and the Belgians have done very little to change it in the years since your visit. We are particularly interested in the country between the Southern African railhead at Fungurume, and Sankisia, where the Belgians have built a short stretch of railway line going to a river that is navigable almost to the lake. We are told there is another very small length of railway track linking the two, but the Belgians are unable to provide us with reliable maps and it is of vital importance to us that we obtain the fullest possible details of the terrain. Do you recall anything about that particular area?’

‘I remember it very well indeed,’ Ben replied confidently. ‘While I was there something stirred up the tribes and as a result I spent far more time there than I had intended, finding ways through the country that would keep us out of trouble. By the time I was done I felt I knew the area almost as well as I know Insimo.’

His reply delighted Carey Hamilton. ‘I knew you were the man to speak to us at the War Office, Ben. If you can spare us a few days in London we will be able to fill in some details on the very sketchy maps given to us by the Belgians. As they are at present they are virtually useless. You can also give us firsthand knowledge of what our men can expect to come up against along the way.’

‘I’ll be happy to come to London with you – especially as you have promised I can travel to Lily afterwards – but things are rather difficult at Ruddlemoor at the moment – indeed, for the clay industry as a whole – so I don’t want to be away for too long. However, Lily is more important to me than business. Before we go to the War Office I’d like you to tell me what you are planning and how many men will be going up to Lake Tanganyika. I might be able to give you some idea of the number of native carriers you’ll need and the amount of food and water that will be required for the journey between Fungurume and Sankisia. Getting that right will be of vital importance to any expedition. The country we’re talking about can throw just about everything at you. Mountains, rivers, dense bush, grass tall enough to hide an elephant … not to mention snakes, crocodiles, mosquitoes and tsetse flies.’

‘But you reached the lake?’ Carey Hamilton queried.

Ben nodded.

‘Do you think you could have got there if you were taking something with you that was both heavy and bulky?’

‘That would depend very much on what it was,’ Ben replied. Reaching a decision, he said, ‘Look, why don’t you tell me exactly what it is you intend doing, Carey? If you do, perhaps I can tell you what you need to know and we can stop playing mysterious games.’

After only a moment more of hesitation, Carey Hamilton capitulated. ‘I’m talking of boats, Ben … gunboats. We intend shipping two of them from London to Cape Town, then carrying them overland to Lake Tanganyika where they will be launched to tackle the German vessels.’

Ben looked at his companion in disbelief. ‘Take two boats overland from Cape Town to Lake Tanganyika?’ he said, echoing Hamilton’s words. ‘That’s almost three thousand miles. How large are these gunboats?’

‘Each one is about forty feet long, with a beam of eight feet – and they will be fitted with three-pounder guns and Maxims. But when you come up to London you can see them for yourself and get a far better idea of the problems we are likely to encounter with them.’

Ben’s incredulity was so evident that Carey Hamilton said, almost apologetically, ‘I realise it must sound something of a madcap venture, Ben, and it probably is, but Lord Fisher, the First Sea Lord, will be providing the naval personnel to transport and man the boats, and he has given it his personal seal of approval. Despite my own initial misgivings, I too believe it can be achieved – if sufficient planning is done beforehand. Indeed, it must be done. We have to take control of Lake Tanganyika at all costs and in order to do that we need craft on the lake capable of outgunning the German boats. While we are at the War Office I’d like you to listen to what is being planned and tell us how best to get there and what we can expect along the way.’

As Ben had already mentioned to Carey Hamilton, it was not a good time to be leaving Ruddlemoor, but by going to London he might be able to help the army and navy avert total disaster in what would seem to be an impossible mission – and also gain something for himself. Something he desperately wanted.

‘I’ll speak to my works captains first thing in the morning, write out some orders for them, and we should be able to get away to London by midday. Before then I would like you to tell me everything you can about this crazy expedition.’

Seated beside Carey Hamilton in the staff car as they were being driven through central London to the War Office, Ben thought that men – and women – dressed in uniform outnumbered those dressed in civilian clothes in the streets of the capital city. When he commented on his observation to his companion, the lieutenant general said, ‘There are likely to be even more in the near future, Ben. At the moment all the servicemen you see are volunteers. Unfortunately, things are going so badly for us in France that the government intends bringing in a conscription bill at the earliest opportunity. Once it is in force there will be very few young men to be seen who are not wearing uniform.’

‘Is the war really going that badly for us, Carey?’

Carey Hamilton thought for a few moments before replying. ‘The war is going no better and no worse for us than it is for the Germans. They thought they would take Paris in the course of their initial thrust and that France would capitulate as a result. For our part, we believed we would throw them back to the German borders within a matter of weeks and they would immediately sue for peace. In either event, the war would have been over in a few months. Tragically, neither forecast was correct. It has become a war of attrition with appalling casualties being suffered by both sides. No one talks of an early end to the war any more, only of winning a series of costly battles.’

‘Battles such as the one to be fought on Lake Tanganyika?’ Ben asked.

‘Exactly,’ Carey agreed, ‘but that is more likely to be similar to the war we waged against the Boers in South Africa. Acontest demanding fluidity and innovation.’

‘As I recall, you are an expert on that kind of warfare,’ Ben commented. ‘Will you be going to East Africa yourself?’

‘That is my intention,’ Carey admitted, ‘but before I do I have a personal battle to fight and win – with the army surgeons. I must persuade them I am fully fit for active service once more. Once I have done that I expect to be calling on the services of another member of the Retallick family. Nat was the finest scout anyone could have had during the Boer war. I hope to persuade him to serve me in the same role once again.’

Letters from Insimo to Cornwall had been few and far between since the outset of the war, due to the fact that a number of ships carrying mail between Southern Africa and the United Kingdom had been sunk by German submarines. Nevertheless, letters had arrived, and they indicated that Nat was no more inclined to involve himself in this conflict than he had been during the early days of the Anglo-Boer war. However, it had been Carey Hamilton who had successfully persuaded Nat to change his mind then. Ben thought he might possibly do the same once again.

At the meeting held in the War Office with senior army and naval officers present, Ben realised that not all of them were enthusiastic about the mission that Carey Hamilton had outlined to Ben in Cornwall. The naval officers in particular were dubious about the feasibility of carrying gunboats overland for such a distance before giving battle to the enemy on a ‘lake’, even one like Lake Tanganyika, which was more than 400 miles long and up to 30 miles wide.

Their lack of confidence proved well founded that afternoon when Ben accompanied them to a spot on the River Thames, to the east of London, to watch the launches try out the three-pounder guns that had been mounted on them.

When the first gun was fired, the recoil sent it and its gunner hurtling backwards, depositing both in the river. In the haste to have everything ready in time for the demonstration, the dockyard fitters working on the gunboats had neglected to secure the gun to the launch.

Fortunately, the naval gunner was rescued having suffered no more than a ducking and a loss of dignity. The three-pounder was left to take its place in the mud of the River Thames alongside artefacts spanning thousands of years of the river’s history.

Such an accident might well have sounded the death knell for the improbable venture. However, contrary to his earlier misgivings, Ben was captivated by the sheer audacity of the proposed enterprise. Back in the War Office, after poring over the woefully inadequate and often inaccurate maps supplied by the Belgian authorities, he declared that, despite the awesome difficulties that would need to be overcome by such an expedition, in his opinion it could succeed. Furthermore, because of the improbable – not to say fantastic – nature of such a venture, he was convinced it would take the German authorities unawares.

Carey Hamilton was delighted. He had supported the plan from its conception, often against the strong opposition of more conservative senior officers. Others, hitherto undecided, eventually added their support, impressed by Ben’s first-hand knowledge of the area and his balanced assessment of the chances of success of the mission. As a result, when a vote was taken on whether or not to go ahead with the mission, it was carried by a majority of two to one.

It was a victory for those who shared Carey Hamilton’s belief in the imaginative project. However, although they had won the day, it was now time to face practicalities – and it was here that Ben’s knowledge of the terrain to be traversed was put to the test.

First, he needed to correct the frighteningly inaccurate maps supplied by the Belgian authorities. He had told Carey that he believed such a task might prove beyond his capabilities, but once he sat down to study the maps he recalled details that he had believed to be long forgotten. The Belgian maps were similar to those he had acquired before setting forth from Insimo on his hunting trip, many years before. Along the way he had corrected them, adding many of the features he had encountered. Now, looking at the maps, memories of his earlier work returned to him.

Here was the ravine where he had been attacked by a lion. There, a river where only dynamite would disperse the basking crocodiles. On another map, where an apparently unbroken chain of mountains barred the way of an expedition such as the one planned