The area in which I grew up was steeped in history, quite a lot of which was of a martial nature. During the Crusades a large number of important prisoners, noblemen of Saladins army were held in the village until they could be ransomed as was the custom. Many of these were never released and instead were made to work on the land. During the Civil War my ancestors fought on opposite sides and finally the father was obliged to surrender his home to his sons Roundhead army. I should say what was left of it as the hall was destroyed by a mighty canon specially brought for the job. Its name was “Roaring Meg” and it is remembered still by the public house which takes its name.
Prisoners of war from France were also detained in the area during the Napoleonic wars, presumably because the place was so remote that they would find it difficult to escape.
All of these transients left echoes of their time in the village but the ghost I am going to tell you about today is of a time much closer to our own.
Each of the four villages had their own memorial to those who lost their lives in the First World War. Most of the villages had no more than seven or eight farms so when I tell you that on most of these memorials there were fifteen of more names you can begin to imagine the great loss these small hamlets suffered.
Our farm was an old one but like many others had been extended over the years, the latest addition being a large kitchen built on to the rear of the house. My father decided that we needed a porch over the kitchen door and during the work he discovered a medal carefully placed between two courses of stones. The medal was from the First World War and bore the name of a soldier, we shall call him Sapper J. Barker, his regiment was also mentioned. My father put the medal away and of course we forgot all about in for quire a long time until one evening he came home with quiet a story to tell. He had met a man at the local pub who was visiting the area, he had been told to speak to my father as his father had once lived in the house which was now our home. He asked if he could bring his father for a visit the next day and of course father agreed. The old man's name was Barker.
As soon as he arrived he commented on the changes to the kitchen and told us that he had helped to build the extension with his father many years before. He was quite overcome when we gave him back the medal that he has placed in to the wall for luck.
My father kept in touch with the old man and his son and they often visited us during the next few years. He told us how his younger brother had died in the trenches and of how close they had been . He had always looked out for his brother and had often carried him home after a night on the tiles. He had promised his mother that he would bring his little brother home safe from the war and always felt that he had let her down.
Some years later I was awakened one morning by voices and laughter coming from under my window. It was very early and dawn was just breaking, and I was non too pleased with the racket that was being made by two young men, obviously very drunk as they tried to climb the steps from the farm track to the house. This struck me as odd at once because these steps were never used as they were dangerous. I watched the two young men as they struggled to make headway up the steps, each time they staggered backwards they roared with laughter and as soon as they had picked themselves up they began again. At last they reached the top and stood for a moment, triumphant,suddenly they stopped laughing and clasped each other in an embrace and then with their arms across each others shoulders they walked slowly up the path to the house. As I watched them round the corner of the house I realised that their uniforms were like the ones in old photographs of my Grandfather, I felt suddenly as if I was standing under a cold shower. I went back to bed with my feet frozen and in spite of all I slept for another hour. I was awakened by
the telephone ringing in the hall. I heard my father answer the call and eager to tell him of my night visitors I rushed downstairs. As he replaced the receiver I blurted out my story, Dad went in to the kitchen to put the kettle on,he did not speak. I asked him what he thought and then remembering the telephone call asked him who was calling us so early.
The call was from John barkers son to tell us that the old man had passed away in the early hours of the morning.
I knew the time that he had died exactly because I suddenly realised who the two World War One soldiers were..
Sapper John Barker had brought his brother Sam home safe at last
No comments:
Post a Comment