Alfred's Scar

Alfred Slater had said hello to the war when he was 17. He was sent to France with other pals from Lancashire and spent the next four years hiding from bullets in mud filled trenches. Eventually the war to end all wars had ended itself. Even though the war had lasted just over 4 years Alfred, himself, seemed 30 years older when he said goodbye to it. The journey back was long and slow. The railway carriages were full; full of men carrying scars. Some of them had left parts of themselves behind. In fact all of them had left parts behind; just different parts. Alfred coughed. The air was thick with pipe tobacco, woodbine smoke and coal dust. Alfred coughed again. This time there was no blood. He was glad he no longer needed to don an ill-fitting gas mask. 

Alfred had never heard of Arch Duke Ferdinand In 1914. He didn’t even know where Serbia was but, he was determined to do his bit even though he was only 17. He’d been working in a cotton mill in Blackburn since he’d left school 4 years earlier. He had to leave school; his mother needed his wage. Alfred’s father had been taken into the workhouse.  The rest of the family had moved in with Alfred’s sister and her husband.

Everyone had seen the poster that said his country needed them. The irony in Lord Kitchener’s statement escaped Alfred but the thought of an adventure in France with good money was attractive. After all he could join up with his brother, John, and some other friends from Blackburn. They’d probably be home by Christmas.

The two brothers went to the recruitment office together. They joined a long queue which stretched all the way down King William Street. Each man was questioned, measured, weighed and examined quickly by a man with a stethoscope. Alfred was below the recruitment age but the sergeant ignored that. 

They met each other after leaving the building. John was sullen, avoiding Alfred’s gaze.

"What’s up, John?"

"They said I was too small. You need to be 5 foot 3. I’m an inch short."

So Alfred had joined up without his brother. John did get to do his bit though a year later when the government introduced bantam battalions for which the height restriction was between 5ft and 5ft 3ins.

It was November and when the train of demob-happy soldiers arrived in  London it was grey, cloudy and raining. The thunder and lightning started. Everywhere he looked it seemed he could see demobbed soldiers covering their heads, hiding in doorways. Alfred coughed again.

There was a family celebration when he arrived home but Alfred didn’t want to talk about the war. He put his medals in a drawer. He married Ellen Huntingdon and started work as a joiner’s labourer. He learnt how to saw wood, how to use a chisel, how to use a drill. He still coughed though. The doctor said he would be better working outside, away from the sawdust, somewhere the air was clearer - apart from the smoke from the factory chimneys of course.

Alfred became a window cleaner. He even cleaned the windows at his local catholic church. He was a religious man. He may have been paid; he may not. No-one knew. He still coughed though. One day he fell from his ladder, damaging his back. It shook him up but he carried on cleaning windows.

Alfred and Ellen had 5 children - 2 boys, 3 girls. They lived in a two-bedroom terraced house in Blackburn. The large bedroom was separated by a curtain to give some semblance of privacy for the two sexes. There was a lean-to kitchen which had a tap to supply them with water. They didn’t have to trail down to the standpipe at the end of the road. In the living room was a large black range which served to heat the room and provide a place to cook. Outside in the yard was a toilet. 

It wasn’t long before another war which had not been ended by the war to end all wars began. Alfred became an air raid warden. It was his job to enforce the blackout and make sure there was no light appearing through the windows in the terraced streets in the neighbourhood. Not many bombs were dropped on Blackburn but Alfred would have been responsible for guiding people to air raid shelters. He was trained in first aid in order to help casualties. He wanted to talk about his first war but nobody wanted to listen then. After this second war Alfred’s cough got worse. He died before his 19 grandchildren were born. The scar on his lung had finally won. He was 52 years old.