Edward Marston: Instrument of Slaughter

Leach licked dry lips. ‘I have to consider Ruby,’ he said, uneasily.

‘The only thing you have to consider is your conscience.’

‘But this will affect her, Cyril.’

‘No woman wants to marry a coward,’ said Price, ‘and that’s what you’ll look like if you don’t do what the rest of us are going to do. Ruby won’t thank you if you go off to war and finish up dead in some rat-infested trench like my poor dab of a cousin. That’s not bravery — it’s plain bloody stupidity. Are you going to let someone dictate what you’ve got to do? Well, I’m not — neither is Cyril and neither is Fred.’

‘We’ll take this to the bitter end,’ said Ablatt. ‘Join us, Gordon.’

Leach shivered as a blast of cold air blew in under the door. He turned up the collar of his overcoat and pulled his cap down over his forehead. It was easy for the others. They didn’t have his responsibilities. Ablatt was a clever young man who’d educated himself and who knew how to put thoughts into words. Price could be bloody-minded whenever he felt that someone was giving him too many orders. Though he belonged to the Society of Friends, Hambridge did not follow Quaker doctrine slavishly but he was nevertheless a born pacifist. He was also strongly influenced by Ablatt and would always fall in behind him. None of the three was prepared to comply with the demands of conscription.

Wishing that he had their unshakable conviction, Leach tried to imagine what would happen in the event of refusal. While he hated the idea of bearing arms as much as any of them, he wondered if they should accept a compromise and help the war effort in a way that did not involve combat. About to suggest it, he saw the warning look in their eyes and realised that it was a waste of time. He was either with them or against them. Since he was too weak-willed to resist the general feeling, he had to accept it and did so with a defeatist nod.

‘That’s settled then,’ said Ablatt, reaching into his pocket to take out a leaflet. ‘I’ve been in touch with the No-Conscription Fellowship. It’s full of people who have the same beliefs as us. Take a look at this,’ he went on, handing the leaflet to Price. ‘The NCF is having a mass meeting here in London early in March and I think all four of us should be there.’

‘You can count on me, Cyril,’ said Price.

‘The same goes for me,’ added Hambridge.

‘I thought you’d be huddled in a tent up in Scotland.’

‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, Mansel.’

‘It was your idea.’ Price read the leaflet. ‘This looks good. I like what I’ve heard about the NCF.’

‘It’s already got thousands of members,’ said Ablatt, ‘and many more will swell the ranks. We’ll be among them. Is that agreed, Gordon?’

Once again, Leach was the last to pledge himself. He’d already made one momentous decision that evening and it had left him in a state of suspended fear. In the long term, there could be unimaginable horrors. In the short term, there was the problem of explaining to Ruby Cosgrove exactly what he’d agreed to do with his friends. And since they had limited leisure time together, she would not be happy to be told that he preferred to attend a public meeting instead of seeing her. He sought desperately for a way of escaping the commitment but none came to mind. Leach eventually capitulated.

‘I’ll try to come, Cyril,’ he bleated.

‘You’ll be there,’ said Ablatt, peremptorily, ‘or I’ll want to know the reason why.’

Leach’s heart sank.

The event was held in Devonshire House, the Quaker headquarters in Bishopsgate, a place that symbolised peace and goodwill. Organisers would later claim that almost two thousand people were crammed inside the building but there was a sizeable crowd outside as well and it was steadily growing. Fuelled by anger at the stance taken by conscientious objectors, hecklers yelled taunts, waved fists and issued wild threats. Soldiers on leave had come to see those they perceived as cowards and shirkers; miserable creatures, in their estimation, who lacked any sense of patriotism. Men who’d lost limbs or eyes in the service of their country added their voices to the hullabaloo. Women were just as ferocious in their denunciation, especially those who’d lost sons or husbands at the front. They couldn’t understand why anyone should be allowed to evade their duty so flagrantly when others had made the supreme sacrifice. It seemed unjust.

One truculent old woman, armed with a walking stick in the hope that she might have a chance to belabour someone with it, confided her feelings to all and sundry in a rasping Cockney accent.

‘It’s cruel, that’s what it is,’ she said, brandishing the stick. ‘Them what’s in there ought to be ashamed. I went to visit my husband in prison yesterday. This woman told me they’d locked hers up for being a conchie. I said they ought to throw away the key and leave the swine behind bars for good.’ She stuck out her chin with pride. ‘My man’s in there for thieving. I mean, it’s a good, honest, decent crime — not like turning your back on your country.’

There was a surge of agreement from those around her and many other suggestions were made of suitably grim punishments for those who dared to resist conscription. Some boasted of attacks they’d made on conscientious objectors and were clearly expecting a major confrontation with them now. They wanted to hand out much more than a white feather. As the crowd grew ever bigger and more volatile, determination to take revenge hardened. A gang of sailors then joined the throng, emboldened by the beer they’d consumed in a nearby pub and roused to a pitch of fury when they’d heard about the meeting of the No-Conscription Fellowship. They weren’t content to shout abuse and hurl dire warnings. They wanted blood.

Uniformed police were on duty but their numbers were totally inadequate and, in any case, their sympathies were largely with the protesters outside the building. War had had a profound effect on them, depleting their resources as many colleagues rushed to enlist, yet widening the scope of their duties. In addition to keeping the peace and arresting criminals, they had to search for foreign spies, prevent sabotage, catch deserters, help to billet troops and perform dozens of other onerous duties unknown in peacetime. Protecting men who refused to bear arms was not an assignment that the majority of them could enjoy. They would show far more enthusiasm when arresting conscientious objectors and hauling them before a tribunal. For the time being, they were content to maintain a presence and rely on the power of their uniforms to keep violent disorder at bay. It was a power that was swiftly diminishing.

‘I didn’t know that this was going on for two days,’ said Leach, incredulously.

‘There’s a lot to talk about,’ Price reminded him.

‘I can’t come back tomorrow.’

‘You’ll have to, Gordon. We’ve got to see it through to the end.’

‘Ruby will kill me. She was really upset when I told her I was going to be here today. She burst into tears. I can’t let her down again.’

‘Would you rather let us down instead?’

‘You can tell me what happens.’

‘This is history, mun. Don’t you want to be part of it?’

‘I’m here today, aren’t I?’

‘It’s not enough. Imagine what Cyril will say.’

Leach shuddered. ‘I’m too busy thinking what Ruby will say.’

They’d arrived late and been forced to stand at the back of the room. Somewhere in the mass of bodies were Cyril Ablatt and Fred Hambridge, early birds who’d manage to secure seats near the front. Gordon Leach preferred to be on the periphery of an event to which he brought only half-hearted interest. Mansel Price, on the other hand, wished that they were with their two friends, forming a quartet of resistance against the demands of the state. Like his companion, he was surprised by the people who’d converged in such force on Devonshire House.