Missing in Action Presumed Dead WW1

By Lynda Whiteley

Chris Clark, a soldier from Sheffield, is fighting on the Western Front. Siggi Haas, a soldier from Berlin, is also fighting on the Western Front. They were just ordinary young men before the war started and now, their lives have been cast to Fate. Chris worked in a steelworks and was happy with his lot. Siggi was an assistant history teacher and looking forward to becoming a good teacher. They were uprooted from their normal environment and thrust into a world of war, as so many others were. They knew nothing of war and assumed it to be something gallant and adventurous. They even assumed they might enact some heroic deed.

There were so many heroes in the Great War and so many battles that I have not mentioned because this is a story based mainly, but not entirely, on the Western Front. It concentrates on the events surrounding Chris and Siggi, being the British Army and the German Army.

The words of the soldiers, sailors, airmen and leaders have been taken from letters, diaries, memoirs or documents — real people experiencing real events. However, Chris Clark, his family and friends are fictional, as are Siggi Haas, his family and friends. Some of the men in this book died in the Great War, some lived and some endured something in between living and death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398426078

Lynda Whiteley

Lynda Whiteley has lived and worked in Sheffield most of her life, working in the export offices of the steel and cutlery firms that are typical of Sheffield. In 1970 and 1971 Lynda lived in Barcelona, where she married. She has two daughters and two granddaughters. Later on, Lynda became interested in history and developed a love of writing.

Book preview

Missing in Action

Presumed Dead WW1

Lynda Whiteley

Austin Macauley Publishers

Missing in Action

Presumed Dead WW1

About the Author

Dedication

Copyright Information ©

Acknowledgement

Introduction

Chapter One : Sheffield, 1912

Chapter Two : Berlin, 1912

Chapter Three : Two Tragic Princes

Chapter Four : The Wrong Turn

Chapter Five : Countdown to War

Chapter Six : The Fighting Begins

Chapter Seven : Your Country Needs You

Chapter Eight : The Sheffield Battalion

Chapter Nine : Anti-German Feelings, 1915

Chapter Ten : The 3rd Division Reach Europe, 1916

Chapter Eleven : The Battle of the Somme

Chapter Twelve : In Enemy Territory

Chapter Thirteen : Peace Without Victory, 1917

Chapter Fourteen : 1918 and the Armistice

Chapter Fifteen : The Treaty of Versailles, 1919

The Aftermath from 1920

Epilogue

About the Author

Lynda Whiteley has lived and worked in Sheffield most of her life, working in the export offices of the steel and cutlery firms that are typical of Sheffield. In 1970 and 1971 Lynda lived in Barcelona, where she married. She has two daughters and two granddaughters. Later on, Lynda became interested in history and developed a love of writing.

Dedication

To Mike Liversidge who was my first contact and to Matt for his patience whilst I was busy writing.

Copyright Information ©

Lynda Whiteley 2022

The right of Lynda Whiteley to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398426061 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398426078 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

'Front cover by Pickards Printers, Sheffield'

Whilst researching details for World War One, I found that both Covenant with Death by John Harris from Rotherham and All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque from Osnabrück, together with Captain Walter Bloem’s book, The Advance from Mons, were the books that hit you most with such strong feelings on every page, feelings of the everyday soldier in the trenches, whether from England or from Germany. Along with all the other soldiers in the war, they showed the same feelings of hope and fear, sadness and loss.

As always, Sheffield Local Studies Library was of great help showing the old maps of Sheffield and the Kelly’s Directories showing the shops and other buildings around at the time. The books below are listed in the order of research, starting with The Great War Generals on the Western Front, which started off my interest in the subject.

Neillands Robin, The Great War Generals on the Western Front, Magpie Books, London.

Harris John, Covenant with Death, by Hutchinson, by Arrow and by Sphere.

Remarque Erich, All Quiet on the Western Front, Ullstein, Berlin and Jonathan Cape Ltd, Random House Group.

Captain Bloem Walter, The Advance from Mons, Tandem Books, London / Award Books, New York; original publication in English by Peter Davies Ltd, 1930. Gibson Ralph and Paul Oldfield, Sheffield City Battalion, Leo Cooper, Pen & Sword Books Ltd, Barnsley, South Yorkshire.

Farrar-Hockley A.H, Ypres 1914, Death of an Army, Pan Books Ltd, London.

Berlin 1912, YouTube.

Ride through the City of Sheffield 1902, YouTube.

Eldridge Jim, Stories of the First World War, Scholastic Children’s Books, London.

Bean J P, The Sheffield Chronicles, D&D Publications, Sheffield.

Arthur Max, Forgotten Voices of the Great War, Ebury Press, London and the Imperial War Museum.

Dallman Pat, The Story of Sheffield High Street, ALD Design & Print, Sheffield.

History Net website.

Dreary Mick, The Complete Hillsborough by Her People, Hillsborough Community Development Trust.

Machan Peter, Pocket Book of Sheffield, ALD Design & Print, Sheffield.

Brown Malcolm and Shirley Seaton, Christmas Truce, Macmillan, London.

Hant Claus, James Trivers and Alan Roche, Young Hitler, Quartet Books, London.

Hobbs Chris, website on Sheffield History.

Time Team Special on the Livens Large Gallery Flame Projector, Channel Four.

Lomaz Scott, The Home Front, Sheffield in the First World War, Pen & Sword Books, Barnsley.

Titanic, The New Evidence, Channel Four.

World War One at Home, The Story of the Trawler-Men, BBC4.

The Great War in Numbers, Yesterday TV Channel.

Brown Malcolm, The Imperial War Museum Book of the Somme, Pan Macmillan, London.

Sitwell Osbert, Great Morning, Reprint Society of Macmillan and Co Ltd, London.

History Magazine monthly, BBC.

Time-watch, Yesterday TV.

Hastings Max, Catastrophe, Europe goes to War 1914, William Collins, London.

Van Emden Richard, The Soldier’s War, Bloomsbury, London.

A F Titterton B.A. and Catherine B Firth M.A, History Senior Course, Book Four, Liberty in Europe and Britain, Ginn and Company Ltd, London.

Royal Cousins at War, BBC2.

Zeppelin LZ54, Wikipedia.

Rosa Luxemburg, Wikipedia.

Tooze Adam, The Deluge, Allen Lane and Penguin Books.

Palmer Alan, Victory 1918, Widened & Nicholson, London.

MacMillan Margaret, The War that Ended Peace, Profile Books Ltd, London.

Lynch Tim, Yorkshire’s War, Amberley Publishing, Gloucestershire. Mackersey Ian, No Empty Chairs, Phoenix of the Orion Publishing Group Ltd, London.

Walsh Michael, Brothers in War, Ebury Press of Random House, London.

The Mad Monarchist website.

Price David, Sheffield Troublemakers, The History Press Ltd., Phillimore & Co Ltd.

Ham Paul, 1913 The Eve of War, Endeavour Press Ltd.

YouTube, Chris Winther, Imperial Anthem of the German Empire. Allingham Henry with Dennis Goodwin MBE, Kitchener’s Last Volunteer, Mainstream publishing, Edinburgh and London.

Introduction

Chris Clark, a soldier from Sheffield, is fighting on the Western Front. Siggi Haas, a soldier from Berlin, is also fighting on the Western Front. They were just ordinary young men before the war started and now, their lives have been cast to Fate. Chris worked in a steelworks and was happy with his lot. Siggi was an assistant history teacher and looking forward to becoming a good teacher. They were uprooted from their normal environment and thrust into a world of war, as so many others were. They knew nothing of war and assumed it to be something gallant and adventurous. They even assumed they might enact some heroic deed.

There were so many heroes in the Great War that I have not mentioned and so many battles that I have not mentioned because this is a story based mainly, but not entirely, on the Western Front. It concentrates on the events surrounding Chris and Siggi, being the British Army and the German Army.

The words of the soldiers, sailors, airmen and leaders have been taken from letters, diaries, memoirs or documents—real people experiencing real events. However, Chris Clark, his family and friends are fictional, as are Siggi Haas, his family and friends. Some of the men in this book died in the Great War, some lived and some endured something in-between living and death.

Chapter One

Sheffield, 1912

Sheffield is at the present moment the greatest armoury the world

has ever seen.

The British Association of the Advancement of Science

Christian Clark was at work in Vickers’ smelting shop in the East End of Sheffield, where all the giants of the steel industry stood. He pulled a red hot steel with the long-handled tongs and fed it through the rollers and watched as it flattened the steel. Sweat poured down his face and he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, knocking back his flat cap. He pulled the cap back down onto his forehead as sweat trickled down his neck and landed on his neckerchief. He looked up at the clock. Just two hours to go before he was finished. Factories shut at mid-day on Saturdays.

There was a strong smell of sulphur in the air and the smell of heavy smoke and hot metal. But it was the hot waste gases that were a problem; too much of them could cause a headache. A short distance away, molten steel was pouring from a massive Bessemer Converter into a mould and as it hit the mould sparks flew high into the air. The flat cap offered some mild protection against the sparks. His thick leather apron also offered some protection but both would be useless against serious accidents.

The Bessemer Converter held 25 tons of red hot liquid steel which never failed to fill Christian with awe. Finally, the whistle blew and Christian went to the washroom, splashing cold water on his face, neck and chest. He changed into his normal clothes and stepped outside.

It was a warm day in early Spring yet it felt lovely and cool after being in the smelting shop all morning. It always felt cool outside even in the heat of summer. He crossed the road to the tram-stop, lolling against the wall as he waited for the tram. He lit a cigarette.

Christian was a handsome lad of 19 with blond hair and blue-green eyes, tall and athletic looking. He was joined by his workmate, Cyril Dexter. Outside the factory, the famous V was emblazoned on the gates and walls. Above was the sign—Vickers Ltd, River Don Works, Sheffield—along with a sign stating that they had a branch of Vickers Ltd (Aviation Department) at Brooklands, Surrey. Another sign stated that Vickers aeroplanes took a half share of the Clyde Shipyard along with John Brown & Co (John Brown’s factory was nearby). Vickers, Sons and Maxim, ship-builders and makers of the Navy’s first submarine. (They were the first firm able to design, build and fit out a battleship in their own factory.)

Beneath that was a sign that said VSM Wolseley Tool & Motorcar Company and Siddeley Car. Vickers employed 6,000 men in Sheffield. Christian looked up to see thick, black smoke billowing out of Vickers’ chimneys and that familiar smell of sulphur in the air. The smell of hot metal appeared stronger outside the factory than it did inside. Behind him, he could see the chimneys of Jessop’s Brightside Works. Back in July 1878, Mr Thomas Jessop had opened the new free Hospital for Women.

One of the men, Jack Murphy, a lathe turner, coming out of the Engineering Shop called across to him.

‘Chris, Cyril, are tha coming for a drink?’ he shouted.

‘You know me, Jack, I’d rather have a drink back home,’ Chris shouted back.

‘Me too,’ added Cyril.

‘Please thissen (yourself),’ Jack shouted in mock annoyance.

‘Go on,’ Chris smiled across at him, waving him away.

They knew that Jack would be going to the local pub to have a drink in his muck. He lived nearby at Wincobank, a passionate lad of 24.

‘Trouble is, all conversations with Jack end up with talk of trade unions,’ commented Cyril.

Jack was active in the Amalgamated Society of Engineers and had been an apprentice engineer at the age of 13. Both Chris (as he was known to his pals) and Cyril had had enough of work and just wanted a quiet drink after a long, hot week in the smelting shop. A lot of steel-men were hereditary steel-men, having taken on the jobs that their fathers and grandfathers had done. Cyril said goodbye to Chris and walked home, living nearby.

The tram came and the conductor shouted out, ‘Four upstairs and two inside.’

Chris smiled to himself as all tram conductors still shouted ‘inside’, although both top and bottom decks were now inside. Trams had been totally enclosed the year before. Chris had liked riding trams on the open top in summer but he was glad that they were now enclosed as sitting in the cold and rain during the winter months hadn’t been much fun. He jumped aboard, climbing up the stairs.

Upstairs, men could smoke and sit in their muck. They would get funny looks if they sat downstairs, dirtying the seats, which was where women, children and old folk usually sat. It was a great time of the week. He had finished work and could relax as he gazed out of the window at the other firms who had also just finished work. Workers were walking about with a smile on their face, some going into nearby pubs, some going home.

He wondered, yet again, why Vickers had contracts with the Krupp’s Steel firm in the Ruhr Valley, Germany, and had been paying royalties to them for 15 years (so the rumour went). And Vickers had a licence from Krupp’s for fuses for explosives. And why Krupp’s would pay royalties to Vickers for other items? Like the Maxim machine gun. They were not enemies, of course, but they were rivals. He wondered why rivals would do this, yet they often did.

He looked down onto Thomas Firth’s Norfolk Works, where there was a large gun-shop. The North Gun Shop was the world’s first engineering workshop to be entirely electric-powered. John Brown’s Atlas Works was next. (Brown had invented the buffers for the railways and the company was the first to roll wrought iron armour-plate for battle-ships.) Then came into view Thomas Firth’s next works (who produced gun barrels and parts for revolvers for Samuel Colt and Enfield Rifles, and once had the largest rolling mill in Sheffield). The tram passed smaller firms along the way like Spear & Jackson’s, ending with George Cammell’s vast Cyclops Works (part of the Cammell-Laird Ship-building company).

Across the road was Henry Bessemer’s Works; every steel firm used the Bessemer Converter for their steel production. Many steel firms abroad also used the Bessemer Converter. The tram passed Tommy Ward’s, Albion Works (Thomas Ward’s Scrap Merchant). His dray horses and carts would collect the scrap metal from the nearby steel firms and were trundling along the Wicker.

The tram went under the Wicker Arches as a steam train rattled on overhead. The arches separated the East End from City Centre. To the left was Seebohm & Dieckstahl’s, Dannemora Steel Works. Behind the works stood William Greaves’ Sheaf Works bisected by the canal. Then Samuel Osborn’s, Clyde Steel & Iron Works, manufacturers of tools, stood on the corner. (Samuel Osborn was the current Lord Mayor of Sheffield, like many steel-men before him.)

The British Association of the Advancement of Science stated that, Sheffield is at the present moment the greatest armoury the world has ever seen. Chris knew that to be true and that made his work bearable. He had grown accustomed to the smell of hot metal, the chimneys billowing out thick smoke, and was satisfied with his lot.

Chris glanced to his right as the tram passed by the old Town Hall on Waingate, where his great-grandfather had once been a policeman at the time when policing first began. He had started out as Constable Clark then became Sergeant Clark. Chris looked down at a beautiful chestnut horse with a silver mane and tail, pulling a fire engine. The horse named Buller was a much loved horse by the firemen.

On the left stood the grand Norfolk Market Hall. The tram turned right at Fitzalan Square where the magnificent General Post Office stood, which even had telephones inside. People were coming from and going into the building. To the left stood the Electra Picture Palace (they did seem more like palaces than just cinemas, with highly decorated exteriors and interiors) and the grand domed bank on the corner. To the right of Fitzalan Square stood the White Building that had ten ceramic crucible steel men sculptured in relief and the Marples pub at the corner with High Street.

Trams and taxis awaited in the centre of Fitzalan Square. Directly in the centre was a grand gentleman’s convenience; ornate toilets with high class tiling and shiny brass fittings to be found there. Then as he travelled up High Street Chris looked down at John Walsh’s department store, knowing that his sister, Elizabeth, would be working there.

He saw several Telegraph & Star vans on the High Street; also some motorbikes with side-cars that delivered the Green Un Sports newspapers. They could be seen lined up outside the back of the Telegraph & Star buildings awaiting papers for onward delivery. He got off the tram in High Street outside Boots Chemists opposite the white building of the Telegraph & Star newspaper house, the name Sir William Leng written below.

(Sir William, a well-known Conservative, had been involved in the Sheffield Rattening scandals and the Sheffield Flood editions. He had died just ten years earlier, still writing for the newspaper right up to the end.)

Chris walked up to catch the 95 tram to Walkley, whistling to himself. All around, people were jumping on and off trams, blue sparks crackling above in the overhead cables giving off an electric smell. He waited outside Cole Brothers’ Department Store, known as Cole’s Corner as it stood on the corner of Fargate and Church Street opposite the Cathedral, a very busy place. He was watching shoppers going in and out of the big store. Some people were waiting outside the entrance as it was a popular meeting place.

Hansom cabs were also parked outside awaiting customers, some customers even had motorcars waiting for them. Just then, he spotted Sadie Sawyer walking along with her husband. He felt his face flush went he looked at her and she turned her head away to avoid eye contact. Sadie had been Chris’ sweetheart since they had been at school, then suddenly up and left him in favour of her boss, a rich man who worked at Cole Brothers.

He was ten years older than Sadie and his father had bought them a house in Ranmoor, an exclusive area. When the tram arrived, Chris went upstairs feeling narked. The Cathedral stood opposite the tram-stop, a little further up Church Street on the corner of Pinfold Street and Townhead Street stood the motorcar building. It had been The Yorkshire Motor Car Co Ltd. and now it belonged to Cravens of Darnell. Inside was a vehicular lift to each floor where the cars were produced. Chris had often stopped to look inside the windows to look at the shiny modern cars.

The ride was very smooth on Glossop Road as Tarmacadam had been laid on the road seven years earlier. The tram passed by Henderson’s Relish Factory. The sun was bright and getting warmer by the time the tram arrived at Weston Park, with people walking to and fro, away from the smoke of the factories. A narrow lane, Mushroom Lane, separated Weston Park from Crookes Valley Park. There he looked down at the boating lake, full of children on this warm Saturday afternoon, some in sailor suits as befitted a great Naval country.

To his right, past Winter Street Hospital, he could see down the valley. It was full of terraced houses and gas lamps leading down towards the River Don on Penistone Road. Sheffield had some of the marvellous sewer lamps that burned off the gases from the sewers (the Patent Sewer Gas Destructor Lamps). The Royal Infirmary Hospital stood out grandly amongst the terraced houses. The tram climbed Barber Road then down Commonside.

When it passed the Yorkshire Penny Bank Chris got up and went downstairs, jumping off the tram at the end of South Road just yards from Walkley Library (donated by Andrew Carnegie). The library stood at the end of South Road and the corner of Walkley Road, a nice-looking building with lots of windows and a clock tower. There was no sign that the tram terminus was there and that the line suddenly came to an end—the tram driver just knew where to stop.

Luckily for Chris, the tram also stopped outside the Freedom public house, known locally as the ‘top Freedom’, as there was another Freedom public house at the bottom of Freedom Road, known locally as ‘bottom Freedom’. Neither Freedom pub was actually on Freedom Road, the ‘top’ being on South Road and the ‘bottom’ being on Walkley Road.

‘Here you are, lad,’ smiled the landlord, Mr Goddard.

‘I’ve been waiting for this all week, the first pint of the weekend,’ added Chris with a look of satisfaction.

He bought two pints of beer and downed one straight away. He took his second pint and went to sit down with his pals at the corner table in the tap room, where they could sit in their muck, the lounge being reserved for people who were more dressed up. Tommy and Joe were with Billy and Sid. They were all volunteers with the Hallamshire Rifles TF (Territorial Force, l/ 4 York and Lancs). Chris was known as the best shot in the force, the fastest and the most accurate and there was a constant rivalry to better him but they never could.

‘How’s your Rosie?’ asked Tommy.

‘Still fifteen,’ answered Chris, giving him a look.

‘I heard she was fed up working as a buffer,’ said Tommy, ignoring the look.

‘Well, I don’t know what she expects to do,’ added Chris, looking down at his pint.

‘Couldn’t she work with your Lizzie?’ asked Tommy.

‘Our Lizzie can talk posh when she wants but our Rosie can’t keep up the strain,’ Chris explained.

‘Are tha going down to bottom Freedom later?’ Joe asked Chris, changing the subject.

‘Yes, I’ll be there after tea,’ Chris replied.

‘Is it next week we are practising in the band?’ asked Sid.

Billy and Sid were furnace masons, they replaced bricks in the steelwork furnaces. Tommy and Joe were saw-smiths at Spear & Jackson’s.

‘Yes and I can’t wait. I wish we could play every week,’ replied Billy.

They all loved playing in the Hallamshire Rifles Brass Band, a real source of entertainment.

‘I saw one of those La Plata motor vehicles from Burgon and Ball at Malin Bridge, on the way home,’ commented Sid.

‘I wish I could afford one. I saw a Hallamshire car last week (from Durham Churchill and Company),’ added Billy.

‘I’ve seen two Winco cars (from Stringer and Company, in Wincobank) this week parked outside Cole Brothers,’ added Chris.

‘I think they are marvellous contraptions but not for the likes of us,’ said Joe.

‘Not likely, we can’t even afford a horse,’ commented Billy.

There was also a Yorkshire Engine Company. The Simplex Motor Company of Tinsley did better than the others. It seemed that everyone was having a go at making motor cars in the city yet there were less than 1,000 vehicles registered in Sheffield.

It was still drinking troughs for horses that were to be seen around the city whilst not so many petrol stations.

‘Wouldn’t it be grand to drive one of those motorcars on that New Road in the Rivelin Valley,’ said Joe, dreaming.

‘Oh aye, it’s smashing that is, goes all the way from Malin Bridge and merges into Manchester Road. Tha can drive all the way past Strines and on to Glossop on one long, straight road,’ Billy enthused.

‘And stop halfway at the Snake Inn for a pint,’ added Chris.

‘It’s not straight when tha gets to the Snake Pass,’ said Sid.

‘You know what I mean. I mean tha don’t have to stop and change direction,’ said Billy.

‘I wouldn’t mind just going as far as Derwent village. It’s grand around there in the summertime,’ commented Joe.

‘Tha don’t even need a motorcar. Tha can get a Dodge motorbus to the Norfolk Arms, where there’s a terminus and have a walk and a pint there,’ said Billy.

‘That sounds like a good idea. We’ll go there when the weather’s better,’ enthused Chris.

After three pints, Chris walked down Freedom Road to his home, the view of Don Valley in front of him with the sight of many of the smaller factories with their tall chimneys and the Neepsend Gas Works. His mother had the tin bath full, ready for him, and a large tin bucket ready for his dirty work clothes to soak in.

‘Here you are, lad,’ she said, handing him a cup of tea. ‘Sit thissen down.’ (Sit yourself down)

‘Thanks Ma,’ he smiled, taking a sip.

‘Right, I’m off to the shops, give you time to have your bath in peace. Try not to wake your father up. He’s having his rest, so is Grandad Albert,’ she said, reaching for her shopping bag.

When Chris was little, he used to hear his grandad call his wife, Hilda, and his grandma call his grandad, Albert, so Chris called him Grandad Albert and the rest of the family followed suit.

At the grocer’s shop, Mrs Clark met Mrs Jones and her triplets. They were running around, five years old. Mrs Jones had been given a Royal Bounty by the King of £3 to help with expenses, as was the custom. Mrs Clark called for some sausages at Graves’ meat shop at the top of Freedom Road. A neighbour was there complaining about her husband always taking time off work. He was not even nice-looking.

‘He’s neither use nor ornament,’ she scoffed.

Mrs Clark commiserated with her then returned home to find the bath refilled with clean water and a well-scrubbed Chris asleep in the chair, his clothes soaking in the bucket.

She started to cook the tea on their shiny, black Yorkshire Range and one by one the family came home. The gas mantles on the wall were lit, giving the room a cosy glow. Danny came in starving, a younger and slimmer version of Chris. Danny was 14 years old and worked for Mappin & Webb silverware on Norfolk Street in the city centre. He had been fascinated when he had first watched the craftsmen turning pieces of silver into works of art.

They made it look so easy and he wanted to be a craftsman himself. They made silverware and jewellery, selling to royalty, which had previously included Queen Victoria, Marie Antoinette, Queen of France, Tsar Nicholas of Russia and present royalty. They also sold to most of the posh shops. Danny came in excitedly.

‘Tha knows that posh ship, the Titanic, well, we’ve just sent off a shipment for its maiden voyage,’ he announced, as he came in.

‘Hello Danny,’ said his mother.

‘Oh hello Ma,’ he said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

‘And no theeing and thouing in this house. The word is you, remember,’ she admonished. ’I don’t want to hear you saying summat like that again.

‘Sorry, Ma.’

Mrs Clark wanted her children to speak properly.

‘There you are, a cup of tea and a bath ready and waiting,’ she said. ‘Well, that is exciting news you have there, Danny, sending silverware to the Titanic,’ she said, looking at his eager face.

‘Look, it says so in The Star,’ he said, pushing the newspaper towards her.

The Titanic was the talk of the day.

By the time Danny had had his bath, Rosie and Elizabeth had come home. They would have their bath after the lads had gone out. Outside near to where the bath normally hangs, stands a bin, something that had come into use nine years earlier and still quite a novelty. It made life so much easier, having rubbish collected. Mrs Clark made herself a cup of tea and plonked herself in the armchair.

‘Well, I’ve not sat down since I got up,’ she said.

As Chancellor of the Exchequer, David Lloyd George implemented the Old Age Pension for poorer people over the age of 70, as long as they had never been in gaol or refused work. Grandad Albert was 69 with just one year to go. He had had to give up work because of his health and the family were taking care of him.

Albert had worked at Victoria Railway Station with the Great Central Railway since he was ten years old. He had been a porter, then a fire-man, then a train driver for most of his life. But in the last few years he had gone back to portering because of his ill health, mainly his coughing, a normal result of a lifetime breathing in thick smoke in that particular job.

(Lloyd George also implemented help for the unemployed, free school meals for poorer children and help for people off work sick. The National Insurance Act of 1911 called for all employees to contribute from their wages in order to obtain benefits; in order to lift the shadow of the work house from the homes of the poor.)

After tea, Mr and Mrs Clark, Grandad Albert and Chris got changed to go to the bottom Freedom for a well-earned drink. They walked down the road. Just coming out of his house at number 54 was Sergeant-Major Joseph Siddall. They acknowledged each other with a smile. The sergeant-major was with the Hallamshire Rifles and he liked Chris. Chris was talking about motorcars.

‘Ee I can remember the first man to be fined for exceeding the speed limit in a motorcar. He was going at 8mph,’ chuckled Grandad. ‘Slow enough for a copper having his lunch to spot him then chase after him on his bicycle! Ha!’ laughed Grandad.

They were laughing as they entered the pub, going into the lounge whilst Chris parted company and went into the tap room. He saw his pals Tommy and Joe, and Billy and Sid. They were laughing out loud at something Joe had just said. ‘Hey up, Chris, come here,’ chuckled Sid, pointing to Joe.

Joe was tall and broad-shouldered.

‘Tell Chris about the beautiful peacocks,’ laughed Tommy.

Tommy was also tall and had laughing, hazel eyes.

‘Shurrup (shut up),’ moaned Joe.

‘What’s this?’ smirked Chris, sitting down with his pint.

‘He went to see the peacocks at the Botanical Gardens and his father said how beautiful the males were,’ Tommy chuckled.

‘And?’ said Chris.

‘And Joe here says, How can tha tell which are male? Heeee!’ Tommy laughed.

‘Well, I didn’t know that all the coloured ones were male. Never seen them before, have I?’ Joe said, in defence.

‘Way, don’t that know that the prettiest ducks are male?’ asked Billy.

‘Are they?’ asked Joe, wide-eyed.

‘Haaa! He’s all brawn and no brains. The daft wazzock,’ laughed Sid.

‘Shurrup,’ said Joe again, pretending to go to the toilet to hide his blushes.

‘He’s daft as a brush,’ laughed Chris.

They all had a good laugh at Joe’s expense.

Mr and Mrs Clark and Grandad Albert were in the pub lounge.

‘I see this coal strike in Alfreton (Derbyshire) is still going on,’ said Grandad Albert. ‘Oh, it’s spread nation-wide now, Pa, cos everyone’s wanting a minimum wage for the work they’re doing and they say there are nigh on a million men on strike. And there’s a London dockers’ and carters’ strike too, and even the railwaymen are involved,’ added Mr Clark.

‘Well, I don’t know what we’re going to do if we can’t get any coal. We’ll have to find some wood to burn. It’s too cold to go without,’ muttered Mrs Clark.

‘Ee there’s trouble everywhere. Even Ireland’s problems have resurfaced with the possibility of Irish Home Rule for the whole of Ireland. The Irish Protestants are against it ’cos they think it would mean Catholics taking charge,’ said Grandad Albert.

‘Well, the Protestants have begun the Ulster Volunteers and I read that they’ve got 250,000 men,’ said Mr Clark.

‘I just hope the steel-men don’t go on strike cos I don’t know how we would manage if they did,’ muttered Mrs Clark.

‘Stop worrying, Edna,’ said Mr Clark, with a worried expression.

Unlike Grandad Albert, Mr Clark was fed up of talking politics and turned