Empire and Tyranny: The Rutherford Chronicles Part 3

By Michael G. Bergen

Were you or your ancestors victims of Hitler’s war?

Joe and Mike returned from WWI to Tyneside at the end of 1918, alive but walking skeletons. They recover from their life-threatening ordeals with the support of their families and readjust to a radically changed world. However, before long, the fallout from such an expensive war took its toll on their community. The reparations demanded from Germany affected the home front. The Great Depression, profound closures, and unemployment bite, devastating the Industrial Northeast. Joe’s family moved to the south London area for the promise of better prospects. However, before long, they found themselves in a new war during the Blitz, resulting in catastrophic numbers of dead, wounded and homeless around them. How will the Rutherfords survive these crises?

Allied Canadian forces joined WWII, and vast numbers of troops arrived to defend the British Islands before being sent to fight the Nazis on the continent. Gunner-driver George forges lasting friendships among his fellow Canadians and the British hosts, meeting Joe’s youngest daughter, Dolly, by accident. They soon marry during one of his leaves and have a baby boy. Then, George is dispatched to the Mediterranean to participate in the Italian Campaign. While in Italy, George frets about his new family. Will his new family survive the Nazi vengeance rocket onslaught on London and Croydon? Will the Allied soldiers survive their daily ordeals on the European battlefields and rejoin their families?

This third book of The Rutherford Chronicles tells the frightening personal stories of the people of England and the brave Allied soldiers fighting to defeat Hitler and end the war in Europe. Other personalities include Winston Churchill, General Albert Kesselring, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, General Bernard Montgomery, General George S. Patton and a murdered Canadian Bombardier.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael G. Bergen
• Release date: May 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005112509

Michael G. Bergen

Michael Bergen was born in England and grew up in Canada, though he has lived in Europe and South Africa for most of his adult life, and it was here that The Rutherford Chronicles first sprang to life.History was always Michael's first love and sparked an interest in his own family heritage. This led, following meticulous research, directly to his writing of The Rutherford Chronicles, a series of four books based on the lives of his ancestors, their friends and families and the broader world in the turbulent years of the early to mid 20th century, and culminating in the final novel, based on his own experiences during the Cold War of the second half of that century.The Rutherford Chronicles follow the lives of ordinary people thrust into extraordinary circumstances, and events controlled by their much better known and more powerful contemporaries on all sides of the conflicts, many of whom are referenced within the pages of the books.Part 1, Empire Discovered, begins during the Second Anglo-Boer War in South Africa and continues into British India. Reedsy reviewer Pixie Emsley says "An absorbing and unusual look at the Anglo Boer War, one of Britain's costliest in terms of money and men, as well as women and children."Part 2, Empire and War, takes place in the trenches and German POW camps in WWI. Reedsy reviewer Pixie Emsley says "A revealing insight into Britain's involvement in World War I told from the viewpoint of a prisoner of war, with all the horrors of war."Part 3, Empire and Tyranny, is about the interwar years following WWI, including the tragic times of the Great Depression. It is also the story of WWII through the eyes of a soldier of the Royal Canadian Artillery in England, Scotland and Italy and his marriage with a Rutherford daughter.The last book, Part 4, Empires Lost, follows events during the Cold War, based on Michael's own experiences during the later half of the 20th century.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

THE INTERWAR YEARS

1919 TO 1939

Recovery and Remembrance

Joe Rutherford found his way that January night in 1919 to Hawthorn Leslie’s shipyards in Hebburn on the River Tyne, where he had worked before the war. Joe and others from his regiment had endured 1,479 days of hunger and anguish in captivity. The Germans captured them in October 1914, and four years of prisoner-of-war camps in Germany had left scars on his mind. The years of confinement haunted him, and his mind was still in turmoil. He had lost friends, too, friends the enemy had shot on the Western Front or when escaping from the POW camps. Others became ill and died before they could experience the sweetness of the freedom he was now enjoying. There had been too many days when guards were watching his every move, blocking any attempt to escape. But he was fortunate to have survived the Great War that killed or maimed millions of people, including two of his closest friends and three brothers-in-law.

It was a chilly night on Tyneside ¹, the shipyards, factories, and workers’ terrace houses enveloped in fog and hoarfrost. Joe recalled the Vehnemoor Celle VI POW Camp in the peat moss bogs of northeast Germany. He and his marras ² had attempted an escape on just such a night. The camp was thirty-odd miles from the Dutch border, and they had almost made it. But that was January 1917, two years ago and a little over midway through the Great War. After that, they spent nearly two years as POWs at Germany’s largest POW camp, Soltau.

The constant rumble and hammering of the yards and factories of Tyneside reminded him of muffled guns and rifle fire. And the smoke rising from dozens of factories created an acrid smog ³ like the battlefields. Joe soon dismissed that analogy from his mind as unpleasant memories. He had survived a month of hell on the battlefields of the Western Front early in the war, too. It doesn’t sound much, he thought. In that month, my battalion lost 1,000 officers and men. They had trained together and travelled to the battlefields of France together. 800 fellow Durham Light Infantry marras had lost their lives, limbs, or freedom within one month of arriving at France’s River Aisne on the Western Front. Joe had read that three-quarters of a million British soldiers had died or were missing in action in that war. And the enemy wounded another one and a half million men in that ‘war to end all wars.’

Many of those men were only boys, thought Joe. The war had also disabled many who could never again work or lead a regular life. In silence, he thanked God for not suffering the same fate.

Tyneside was one of the leading industrial regions in the world for coal mining and shipbuilding since the Industrial Revolution when Britain produced most of the world’s ships. Along with Clydeside, Merseyside, and Wearside, they had built more ships in the last century than anyone anywhere else. Besides the collieries, Jarrow and Hebburn had two primary employers: Palmers Shipbuilding and Iron Company, by far the largest employer in Jarrow, and the smaller Hawthorn Leslie and Company in Hebburn. Between them, they provided a living for 90% of the workers in this part of Tyneside. Joe had worked for Hawthorn Leslie before he left for the Great War in 1914. He had worked there before he left for the Boer War in South Africa in 1901.

At Hawthorn Leslie’s Hebburn yards, Joe found his old marra, Mike O’Brien, meandering in the darkness, too. Joe and Mike were lifelong friends who had fought in two wars together and had endured the Great War side by side in the battles on the Western Front and three POW camps in Germany.

"Aalreet ⁴ Mike, what are ye doing here at this time of night?" he called out in his best shipyard-Geordie ⁵ livened up with a touch of Irish brogue?

Aalreet Joe, I suppose the same as ye, said Mike, winking. They both laughed and embraced.

They are still hard at work, said Joe while surveying the yard. Look. There are at least a dozen ships in different stages of building at our old yard, including destroyers, cargo ships, tugs, and a large passenger cargo ship. And Palmers? They look busy, too. I visited there yesterday.

Aye, lots of work. We must get in there again, said Mike. With the war over, they will not get as much work.

How are ye doing, Mike? asked Joe. Getting any stronger?

I guess so. And you, Joe? said Mike.

Aye, getting there; getting there, said Joe. Mary is doing a fine job of looking after me. And I’m home with my little family again!

Aye, said Mike. It’s such a pleasure to be back home. Ruth is looking after me too. And my little Michael is such a fine laddie.

Joe and Mike considered themselves very fortunate! They were home on Tyneside at long last. They had celebrated their first wonderful Christmas since joining the war effort with their families, and life was returning to normal for them. Joe walked every night through his familiar neighbourhoods of Jarrow and Hebburn on the south bank of the River Tyne and often met his old companion. They were both enjoying the freedom and aloneness of walking out of their front doors and exploring their old haunts without being watched by guards.

What you and I have been through together, my old marra! said Joe. We are now close to forty years old, most of that as marras.

Why did we go, Joe? asked Mike.

Because we believed it was our duty to protect this country and our families from the Boche, said Joe, repeating his old refrain.

Aye, that was it. But did we need to go? asked Mike. We had done our duty in South Africa and India. Why did we have to go to France for this bloody war?

I ask myself that every day, too, my marra, said Joe. I left Mary and our two bairns behind to go to a filthy trench war and German POW camps. They suffered; I suffered; we all suffered. Why? I don’t know. So many men, young and old, joined the Army. We just got caught up in it and felt we had to join. I can’t remember the details. I just remember we were at peace and enjoying our lives and work one day, and then we were signing up for war again the next.

Aye. It makes little sense, does it? mumbled Mike.

Back home, Joe slipped into bed with Mary, who was sleeping. She was warm through her nightclothes, so he fit his body into the contours of her form.

Then, after giving her a soft kiss on the neck, he fell asleep and soon dreamed he was on the Chemin des Dames above the River Aisne in France.

The night was black except for the constant flashes of guns and exploding shells.

There’s not much bloody protection in these trenches, said Mike. How can we stay safe here?

Aye, I don’t know where we should hide from the Boche aiming at us over there, Joe said. They are so close we could reach out and touch them.

Is this it? asked their long-time marra Jack. Two lines of soldiers facing and shooting at each other in the rain and mud? Is this our new war?

Looks like it, said Joe. It’s a bloody miserable state of affairs.

Aye. There is no protection against those bloody Boche shells, said Mike. Well, laddies, it was nice knowing ye. God knows how long we’ll survive out here.

Then, from the trench, looking out across the scarred terrain to the German entrenchments, they saw movements. German soft uniform caps and spiked helmets appeared from time to time above their parapets as the German troops prepared for their attack. The morning was misty and dark, and the rain started pouring in sheets. Joe’s fingers had stiffened, and they weren’t sure they could fire their weapons should the enemy charge.

Bloody hell, whispered Mike then. I don’t have a comfortable feeling, laddies. Sitting in these open shallow trenches with the rain beating on us? It’s bloody freezing and dangerous. We have the German Army staring at us from a few yards away, and those movements may mean they will soon attack us.

Aye, Mike, this doesn’t look good for us, said Joe. We had better do our best if we want to survive. I reckon the Boche is just as wet and freezing as we are. Keep your heads low, and let’s watch what’s happening around us. Stay alive!

What about those darkies next to the West Yorkshires? Are they fighting men? asked Jack.

I bloody well hope so, said Mike.

Minutes later, the Germans launched a fierce attack along the Allied line. It began with the horrific storm of an artillery barrage. With the wind and beating rain, it became a storm of fire and water. Shells exploded before and behind the trenches and even overhead, raining shrapnel on us unsuspecting newcomers. German machine guns and rifles opened fire along the line. Bullets whizzed past them, embedded themselves in the earth mound behind them, or ricocheted off boulders and helmets. It was so loud they couldn’t communicate with each other. The smoke, rain, and mist made it impossible to see the enemy. And it continued nonstop for over an hour.

Keep your heads low, laddies, and return fire as best you can, yelled a corporal nearby.

How? cried Mike. I can’t see the bastards!

Just fire in their direction, yelled the corporal. They’ll get the message, and we might down a few.

After the first shocks, which had frozen them in their positions, they rallied their strength and nerve and fought back as hard as possible. The noise was deafening, the whizzing bullets frightening, and the sound-waves and shrapnel from the exploding shells battered our line nonstop.

We’ll give you as much as you are giving us, you bloody Hun, yelled Mike while unloading his rifle over and over in rapid-fire towards the German line.

Mike’s fellow Durhams, along the line, did the same, including Joe. After a few minutes of preparing their guns, the British artillery returned shells in rapid fire. And between the blasts from the canons, there were cries of pain from their fellow Durhams.

The Moroccans on their right also came under a massive attack and were panicking and retreating. So, as the Moroccans pulled back, the Officer Commanding the 1 st West Yorkshire Regiment moved one of his companies to cover the gap caused by their retreat. Then, the Moroccan officers rallied their men for a while, and they moved forward again. There was total confusion. Not knowing the British had moved into their position, the Moroccans opened fire on the 1st West Yorkshire Battalion men, who suffered thirty casualties—friendly fire and complete chaos!

I told you so, called Jack as loud as he could. You can’t trust those Wogs to get things right!

I think we are all in the same bucket here, Jack, I yelled, no matter the colour of our skin.

A bloody dangerous bucket! screamed Jack.

Look up there, laddies, called Joe. It’s a plane. I can see the pilot and a bombardier. They’re coming our way. Watch them.

They’ve dropped a bomb, screamed Mike. It’s coming straight for us!

Dive for cover, screamed Joe!

Joe awoke in a sweat. Mary had heard him groaning and calling out bloody dangerous and dive for cover. So, she was awake too and comforting him.

Relax, darling, said Mary. You must have had a nightmare. I’ll bring you some tea and a biscuit.

I’m sorry I woke you up, my darling, said Joe. A bomb was coming straight for us, and then I woke up, thank God.

That’s all right, Joe. You poor darling. We’ll have some tea; you can tell me all about it. Then we’ll go back to sleep, my love.

Joe walked every night, regardless of the weather, as soon as Mary and the children were asleep. He enjoyed breathing in the air of Tyneside despite, or because of, its familiar pall of industrial smoke. He had drawn breath in this smog-filled environment since his childhood. The breezes of the POW camps of the Lüneburg Heath in rural North Germany had been so clean and healthy. But it was not the air of his homeland. He enjoyed walking wherever he pleased, unfettered in familiar surroundings. And he cherished the liberty of allowing his mind to overcome the turmoil of his last four years.

Joe and Mike often met, walking together while reminiscing about their exploits since they had first joined Queen Victoria’s Army in 1900. As soldiers, they had shared many experiences in South Africa, India, France, Belgium, and Germany over two decades. The friends remembered many of the fun times and avoided reawakening their nasty episodes, the stuff of their inescapable nightmares. Yes, they lost many of their old marras, but they made many friends, too, along the way. And they treasured their medals and the King’s letter to homecoming British POWs to honour their sacrifices. And both Joe and Mike still had their limbs and faculties intact!

My God, Mike, how did we live through these last few years? asked Joe.

It’s a miracle, Joe, said Mike. We survived hell. I’m home, but I can’t escape it. I dream about it every night. But what of those who didn’t return?

Aye, said Joe as if from a distance, I’m dreaming about it too, Mike. Billy, Jack, Fred, and the hundreds or thousands of others we left there in the blood and mud of the battlefields. Mary’s three brothers died within a few miles of each other near Ypres. I’m miserable every time I remember them dying in those trenches. What has become of their remains?

Buried in the mud of France and Flanders, said Mike. Far from their beloved Tyneside.

Aye. Buried in the mud of France and Flanders. But their souls are now in heaven.

Or, maybe here with us, Joe.

Of the millions of Britons who went to fight in the Great War, 10% never came back. The official final and corrected casualty figures of the British Army for the Great War were 574,000 killed in action. Over 250,000 were missing and presumed dead. The war disabled or damaged another 1.7 million badly enough to qualify for a war pension. Over 40,000 men had their limbs amputated during the war; 272,000 suffered other debilitating injuries in the legs or arms; 60,000 were injured in the head or eyes, and 89,000 sustained further severe damage to their battered bodies. Many returning soldiers weren’t as fortunate as Joe and Mike. Disabled soldiers needed continued care, many for the rest of their lives. Most of these men found it difficult, if not impossible, to regain employment on their return. It took over a year for the last soldier to leave St. Nicholas Hospital in Newcastle.

Who do we blame for all that misery? asked Mike. The Boche Kaiser Wilhelm II and his generals, aye. But what of our generals, too? Did they give a damn about the thousands of men they sent over the top to their deaths? What did we mean to those arrogant bastards?

"Aye, Mike. And they say the worst was Field Marshal Haig. They call him Butcher Haig. I’ve heard that two million British casualties were endured under his command. ⁶ ⁷ I reckon the generals had a job to do, Mike. They must win the wars, no matter how. They decided on the strategies and made their battle plans. We were just their cannon fodder!"

Aye, that’s true. But the generals had a job to do, with us soldiers as cannon fodder! Are there not smarter ways to win wars without so many casualties?

Maybe. But we have seen that the generals don’t know how!

Joe and Mike surveyed the shipyards in silence for a long time, deep in their memories and thoughts, until Joe concluded: We must count our blessings and thank God that we and thousands of others are still alive and returning home to live and work again!

They survived the horrific 1914-1918 Great War, which resulted in 17 million deaths and 20 million wounded. They lost many more marras in the treacherous vermin, disease-ridden trenches, and the cramped German POW work camps. Towards the war’s end, they were facing starvation through the chronic lack of food in Germany. They had survived the 1918 flu pandemic doctors described as one of the most significant natural disasters in human history, and it may have killed more people than the Black Death of Medieval Europe. ⁸ ⁹

We must recover our strength as soon as possible and return to work, Joe. We are luckier than those poor bastards who have returned damaged.

Joe and Mike parted ways and returned to their sleeping wives. Once more, Joe slipped back into bed beside a sleeping Mary and soon fell asleep.

They crossed a bog, sinking to their waists in frigid water and mud, then reached a plowed field.

Look after yourselves, said Joe. They say we must cross this muddy field under fire while returning fire without protection!

Shite, said Jack. Bloody madness!

And then the attack began. Hundreds of British troops were shouting and running through the mud while firing through their comrades at the enemy. The Germans climbed out of their trenches and ran towards them, too. It was frightening! Bullets whizzed past them in every direction the whole time, while shells exploded randomly across the entire field. British guns were lobbing projectiles from behind their lines into the German defences on the other side of the Meteren Becque. The noise of battle was horrific, and smoke covered the entire battlefield, so it was difficult to see ahead of their bayonets! And men were dropping too often around them.

Stick with me, lads, yelled Joe to his marras.

Right next to you, Joe, called Mike.

Right behind you, Joe, yelled Fred.

I’m with you too, called Jack from just ahead of Joe.

So, on and on, they ran, weaving around their fallen, wounded, and dead fellows in the mud. Then Jack stumbled and fell face-first into the mire.

Jack’s hit, Joe shouted. I’ll check him out. Keep going.

Joe dropped to the mud and crawled back to check on his marra. But Jack had taken a bullet through his forehead.

He’s dead, a bullet to the forehead, Joe called to the others. Jack’s gone!

Keep going, my marra, said Mike, looking back. Keep going as fast as you can. Catch up with me. They will collect and bury Jack after the battle.

So they ran through the hail of bullets and shrapnel from exploding shells. More men dropped to the mud when hit. Soon enough, they came upon the enemy and engaged in one-on-one combat, thrusting their bayonets into very young Germans as they went and dodging the German blades as best they could.

Joe saw a German soldier running straight for him, rifle and bayonet extended towards him, screaming. He tried as hard as he could to deflect the weapon as the soldier made his determined effort, jabbing his blade in Joe’s direction. He yelled, Halt, then awakened, shaking and sweating as if from a fever.

His shouting awoke Mary. Joe, Joe, you’re all right, my darling. Wake up. It’s all right. You’re home with me. She was soothing him and stroking his brow as he emerged from his sleep. Having another nightmare?

Jack, cried Joe. We lost Jack! And a German soldier was about to stab me.

I know, dear Joe, said Mary. You told me about Jack. Stab you? My God, did that happen to you over there?

Joe didn’t reply. He looked into her eyes at first as the reality of being back in a warm bed beside his wife registered.

I’m sorry, my darling, said Joe. The memories keep pouring back. I can’t get rid of them. But the soldier didn’t stab me. I awoke.

You will get rid of them, my love. You will once you have worked through them, said Mary, then kissed him on the forehead. I’ll make some tea, and we’ll go back to sleep.

The sight of unemployed ex-servicemen on the streets became common and a scandal. The Gateshead Employment Exchange targeted local places of entertainment to see if they could use any more men. They considered the job of cinema projectionist ideal for those disfigured by a war injury since they worked in darkness and were seen by no one. They asked cinemas to project information about unemployed ex-servicemen on the screen each week to reach out to employers. ¹⁰

However, many soldiers couldn’t return to their original line of work because of injuries or the devastating effects of shell shock. ¹¹ As early as 1916, schemes were being funded to offer workshops full of equipment for wounded returning soldiers to develop new skills, earn money, and gain independence and self-respect. This continued and grew after the war’s end.

Luckier men had jobs kept open for them. But most others, able-bodied and wounded alike, competed for work in a changed and more complex environment. The war led Tyneside shipyards to an over-reliance on government contracts for a limited range of products, and they became vulnerable. So, engineering companies tried to diversify their post-war profile. For example, Armstrongs of Elswick, Newcastle, returned to making automobiles and vans to meet growing demand. They branched into locomotives, pneumatic tools, and combustion engines, too. However, many smaller companies lacked the capital to diversify. ¹²

Back to Work

Once he had recovered enough, Joe found menial work occasionally, but it was not what he had done before the war and not what he had hoped for either. But he was ready to contribute to the household and take the pressure off Mary without overexerting himself during his recovery.

It was a short-lived irony that the standard of living in England had improved during the war. Full employment, rationing, rent control, rising bacon imports, and increased milk and egg consumption meant that many working-class families were in a better position than before the war. Workers’ incomes doubled on average between 1914 and 1920, and, in the war’s aftermath, when price levels dropped, the war-boosted wage levels remained the same. ¹³

Mary spoke to his past manager, Gerald Robinson, at Hawthorn Leslie, whom she had kept abreast of his return to Jarrow and his recovery progress. When Joe left, she used his contacts at the shipyard to find employment for herself, ensuring income for their family. Now, the time was approaching to switch back from herself to Joe as the wage earner, and they agreed to do everything they could to make that happen.

The Government encouraged women to leave their jobs after the war to give them back to servicemen. The women received out-of-work compensation, but that didn’t last long. In December 1919, Gateshead Council reminded the tram company they had only agreed to use female conductors during the war. Ex-soldiers’ organizations condemned hiring women who were not widows or dependants, thus depriving ex-servicemen, widows, and dependants of the means of making a livelihood. ¹⁴ These were still trying times for many on Tyneside and elsewhere. The Newcastle Daily Journal reported in December 1918 that in Newcastle alone, there were 15,000 unemployed women, many former Munitionettes, as they called the female munitions workers during the war. ¹⁵ Unrest and dissatisfaction with post-war job conditions resulted in sporadic strike action. ¹⁶

In many aspects of life, they continued hearing echoes of the Great War in the years after the Armistice. But conditions settled on Tyneside once more, and as with many others, Joe’s strength returned. After three months, Joe was ready and keen to return to work. He met with his old boss at Hawthorn Leslie, Gerald Robinson, to discuss the possibility of returning, cap in hand.

Welcome back, Joe, bellowed Gerald Robinson in his fashion as he thrust his hand to shake Joe’s. So canny good to see ye back home and in good health!

Terrific, Mr Robinson. Thank ye, thank ye so much, said Joe. Ye don’t know how canny good it is for me to be back here, believe me.

Four years, Joe, said Robinson. How did ye survive that?

I ask myself that every night, Sir, he said. If I had to survive, to look after my wife and children. I had to return, so I refused to die even though the Boche tried their best to kill me.

Well, it’s an excellent thing, too, said the officer. Now let’s discuss the reason for this meeting, getting you back to work here. Joe, we don’t have your old job anymore. Sam Mitchell has taken it, and I’m loath to remove him from it. But we can put you back in the yard, helping wherever they need you.

That will be right with me, Sir, said Joe, I prefer to work out in the open.

Good, bellowed the headman. Well, that settles it then. You can start tomorrow.

Terrific, Mr Robinson. Thank you so much! said Joe as he backed out of his office, cap in hand out of respect, making his way home full of joy and pride.

I have a paying job again, Mary, he proudly announced, A good-paying job. Mr Robinson said I could start tomorrow.

Oh, Joe, said Mary as she moved toward him, I could see you needed that again. Now we can return to the old days as a family!

Aye. You can now return to raising our little ones, said Joe. We’ll have many more.

The Consequences of War

But for the people of Tyneside as elsewhere, it was soon plain they had lost the grand times of old. Gone were the gaiety and devil-may-care attitudes of pre-war Edwardian days. The war had punched a massive hole in the treasury of Great Britain. From being the world’s largest overseas investor, it had become one of its biggest borrowers. Inflation doubled between 1914 and its peak in 1920; the value of the Pound Sterling and consumer expenditure fell by over 61%. ¹⁷ Reparations like free German coal depressed the British coal industry, one of the major employers on Tyneside. Germany could pay in kind or cash to offset its vast repayment commitments. Commodities that could be settled in kind included coal, timber, chemical dyes, pharmaceuticals, livestock, agricultural machines, construction materials, and factory machinery. The Allies deducted the gold value of these commodities from what they required Germany to pay. ¹⁸

Britain, with a population of 38 million in 1918, had changed! One significant change was the empowerment of women. During the war, women had filled in for men’s jobs. After the Great War, women gained the right to vote directly, resulting in enormous political and social change for returning veterans to adapt to. Yet another significant development was Labour, emerging as a powerful social and political movement and a force for change.

Reminders of the war were everywhere in those early post-war days, and they couldn’t forgive the Germans. In January 1919, the City of Newcastle Golf Club allowed no person of enemy origin to become a club member, and they didn’t let such persons play on the course.

When Newcastle United played again, Joe and his marras attended one of the first matches at St. James’ Park.

Look, Joe, called Mike while pointing to an enormous poster at the entrance to the stadium, Newcastle United players who fought in the Great War. I recognize a few of them who were in the Durham Light Infantry.

Aye, Mike, said Joe. I’ve heard that 100 ex-players and officials of Newcastle United served in the Great War. And a great bunch of lads they were, too, both as football players and as soldiers! They awarded Thomas Rowlandson of Newcastle United a Military Cross and Donald Simpson Bell; remember him? They awarded him the Victoria Cross.

Within the stadium, they saw the disabled enclosure, full of injured men in hospital uniforms. Women were circulating through the aisles, passing the hat to solicit money for hospitals. Lines of blind veterans walked, each with a hand holding the shoulder of the one before, to points in the bleachers where volunteers commentated on the match for