The Lonely Gotha

By Ruth Burt

When Harold had to leave war torn, gloomy North London in the early years of the First World War, he had mixed feelings. Still mourning the death of his father on the Somme, Harold’s mother was taking him to live with her sister and uncle in the seaside town of Westgate-on-Sea, on the south-east coast of Kent. Harold remembered one previous visit, in the summer before the war, of squawking seagulls, striped deckchairs and a tiny cottage on the shore. A holiday was one thing, but what would living there be like, away from everything and everyone he knew?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398482364

Ruth Burt

After nearly 40 years as a teacher of English and special needs in a range of UK schools Ruth Burt noticed there were few fiction books for the 8–13 age range about the home front in the First World War. In 2018, at the centenary of the Great War she decided to write one herself to fill the gap. She set it in the area she lived because she realised the place was used by both the military and civilians alike in that period.

Book preview

About the Author

After nearly 40 years as a teacher of English and special needs in a range of UK schools Ruth Burt noticed there were few fiction books for the 8–13 age range about the home front in the First World War. In 2018, at the centenary of the Great War she decided to write one herself to fill the gap. She set it in the area she lived because she realised the place was used by both the military and civilians alike in that period.

Dedication

Richard Burt because without his research into his paternal grandfather and his connection to the Royal Naval Air Service in Westgate on Sea, the gem of an idea would not have developed.

Copyright Information ©

Ruth Burt 2023

The right of Ruth Burt to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 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 9781398482357 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398482364 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

To all the young people I read aloud to over the years and tried to encourage to read for themselves.

Chapter 1

‘Thwack’. Harold startled at the unfamiliar sound before sinking back into the feather pillow on his narrow bed. He recognised the noise. It was the whipping flap of the bell tents situated upon the slipway yards from his bedroom in Coastguard Cottages. The Royal Naval Air Service, who flew their motley seaplanes against the Hun were billeted there, or rather, the ratings were, the officers lived in the plush surroundings of the St Mildred’s Hotel. Harold’s mother had worked at the Hotel since their coming to Westgate on Sea after his father’s death on the Somme the previous year. Cassie had felt unable to stay in Highbury and flew to her identical twin in Westgate with her grief. Aunt Emmy and Uncle Bill had readily offered their small home to Harold and his mother. Cassie enjoyed her work at the Hotel but was tight-lipped when it came to the frivolous antics of the naval officers. Without actually voicing her opinion, she made it clear that she found their reckless behaviour disrespectful to her late husband and his unspeakable experiences in France.

Harold had also settled comfortably into life at the seaside. For him, the RNAS provided endless entertainment. Why only the other month he and his pal, Gil Martin from St Saviour’s School spent a whole morning in fits of helpless laughter as the hapless ratings attempted, again and again, to retrieve their seaplane from the tide. When they finally managed to loop the rope they were using to tow the plane around its propeller the two boys were in near hysterics, especially as the gathering wind was actually winding the rope and pulling the rowing boat they were in out to sea rather than the aeroplane into the shore. Both boys agreed it was better than Charlie Chaplin.

Today though, Harold was by himself. It was the summer holidays and the day stretched ahead of him like an unwrapping gift. Risking the fury of his mother, had she known his intentions, Harold planned to make his way towards the unfinished houses further up the coast towards Mutrix. The abandoned building sites offered endless potential to a ten-year-old boy at a loose end. He picked up the dripping sandwich his mother had left for his lunch and let himself out of the cottage. It was a fine day and the heat of the sun on the back of his neck made him question the wisdom of his knitted pullover. Raking it over his head, he tied it at a jaunty angle across his chest.

The road was paved with sharp, angular flints which threatened to pierce the soles of his second-best boots so Harold stepped onto the grass verge when he was able. There were a few older houses dotted along the road, one coming up with a dark privet hedge around it. Just as Harold drew near to the house, he became aware of the puttering sound of an engine and felt, rather than saw, an ominous shadow blotting out the sun like a pinched candle. For a second, Harold hesitated, unsure and confused by this turn of events. A sharp stutter brought him swiftly to his senses: gunfire. Harold instinctively threw himself into the dark green depths of the privet hedge. Its solid appearance, after initial spiky resistance, admitted him to its verdant heart. Harold held his breath as if the act of breathing would give away his position. After