Sample

CHAPTER ONE

By 1943 most of Belgravia Crescent had escaped the London bombings though the pillared portico of number 12 had lost its pre-war whiteness in favour of a darkened grey. Servants who had busied themselves in its spacious rooms for half a century had left to find a new life within the spoils of war. Number 12 boasted six bedrooms two bathrooms and dressing rooms when in its Victorian heyday both master and mistress dressed and slept in separate rooms. It was the era of society visiting cards and grand balls.
Number 12 overlooked its own park, though rarely used by the habitants but gave an impression of residing in the country. Belgravia peaked in the 1920’s but with the crash of the stock market in the 1930’s the place was never the same again. Only the war in September 1939 saved it from complete desecration.

Samual Cobham a portly man in his mid forties invested wisely in various projects in Sweden and Switzerland so escaped the trauma of bankrupts. He managed to retain one servant Helen a middle-aged spinster devoted to both master and mistress. To save work they closed several rooms until such a time employment more accessible.
Their only son James 18 a fresh complexioned buoyant youth, was well into his last term at Westminster School in London. He was popular, lively minded and well mannered and like many of his fellow students looking forward to becoming an officer in the army in the coming spring of 1943.
 
Before the end of the Christmas term, the head master Mr.Lewis, a tall thin bespectacled man with a soft secretive voice called a special assembly for students about to become of military age. James Cobham being one of them.

There was a hushed silence in the hall as Mr Lewis stared pensively from one boy to another. They knew by his histrionic stance he was about to say something important.

I have here a letter from Mr Ernest Bevin Ministry of Labour and National Service. I take it boys you know that there is a war on. Laughter throughout the hall and with a wave of the hand Lewis commanded a silence.
The letter is an appeal from Whitehall of which I am about to read to you.

We have reached the point at which there are not enough miners to produce the amount of coal needed to keep the war effort going. We need 720,000 men continuously employed in this industry. This is where you boys come in. Our fighting men will not be able to achieve their purposes unless we can get an adequate supply of coal. None of you would funk a fight with the enemy and I do not believe it would be said of any of you boys that you fail to respond to the call for coal which victory so much depends. So before considering a position in the armed forces I recommend with equal consideration and for the sake of our beloved country you volunteer to opt for a coal industry at the moment so vital in saving our country from annihilation. 
       
There was a stunned silence followed a rumble and hush whispers of  -  ‘coal miner!’
‘Mines!’ ect.

Mr Lewis knuckled a gentle tap and brought the hall to silence. ‘I see gentlemen that you are not in favour with Mr Ernest Bevin’s plea. However it is not for me to say one way or another it is entirely up to you. This establishment of course has never opened its doors to industrial ventures, coal mining or otherwise, but as I have already said. There is a war on and such sentiments have to be put aside when it comes to the defence of our county whether it be a gun or a pick and shovel.’ [Laughter] So gentlemen I suggest you return to your studies and let me know of your decisions by noon tomorrow. - Gentlemen you may dismiss.

At dinner that evening at No 12 Belgravia Crescent, James spoke of Mr Ernest Bevin’s letter read to them by headmaster Lewis.
Samuel Cobham burst out with a raucous laugh. ‘My son a coal miner! The man must be out of his senses.’
‘But why a public school Samuel?’ said his wife Victoria. ‘Surely we need officers to win the war not coal miners.’
‘Quite right my dear. - So James what was the outcome of this preposterous plea from the minister?’ 
‘We have to make a decision by noon tomorrow when a list of names will be forwarded to the Ministry. ‘So what do you think father?’
‘What do I think James?’ said Samuel, aghast. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well. What am I to tell Headmaster Lewis?’
‘Tell him the answer is no and that your father is sending you to Sandhurst when the time is right.’
‘Yes father and by the opinion of the others I don’t think they are in favour of the Scheme.’
‘I should think not indeed James. Coal miners indeed.’

By noon the next day the headmaster called another assembly. There was a hushed silence and an air of anticipation among the boys as to who might go forward with a note of acceptance.
Mr Lewis sat silently staring at an empty desk as though in prayer. He then lifted his head and with a slight smirk said. ‘Well gentlemen I observe from my uncluttered desk there appears to be no answer to Minister Bevin’s plea. Or are you withholding a letter of acceptance from me.’
‘There was an immediate unison cry from the hall. ‘No sir.’
‘Then I take it you are all in favour of a more senior service other than coal mining.’
‘Yes sir!’ another the cry from the hall.   
‘Then I take it gentleman that I am write to the minister and decline his generous offer?’
‘Yes sir!’ followed by more laughter.
‘Good. Now gentlemen you can take your luncheon and an extra hour’s grace.

So it was that Minister Ernest Bevin’s plea for miners fell on deaf ears throughout the country. By the spring, stocks of coal and recruitment had become so low that an emergency meeting was held in the House. Every avenue to persuade young men to volunteer for the mining industry had little or no effect. Letters were even sent to commanding officers of various regiments to release all experienced miners, but no one came forward.
The Government became more concerned over the decline of the industry than the war itself. By early spring 1943 Minister of Labour Ernest Bevin, a short stocky practical man with horn- rimmed spectacles stood and addressed a crowded house.

‘You are all aware of my efforts to bring our coal miners back into an industry whose stocks of coal has fallen to its lowest ebb since the mid twenties National Strike. I have, as you know, probed every avenue of hopeful recruitment from public schools to ex miners at present serving in our armed forces, but all to no avail.
I have therefore decided to enforce conscription of young men into the mining industry by means of a ballot, beginning with the April Registration.
Boys are to be chosen by lot. Ten slips of paper bearing a number 0 to 9 to go into a draw. Every youth whose National Service Registration number ends with the number on the extracted piece of paper are to be conscripted into the coalmining? It is now a question of win or loose. I am quite aware that my decision to take this drastic step will be unpopular but needs are as must and if we are to attain a victorious end to the war. The one essential and only way at present is through coal.
Bevin then sat down to tumultuous applause from all sides of the House. The Bevin Boy scheme had been launched.
James Cobham left Westminster School on the Easter Term. He was just eighteen and at his father’s request applied for officer training. Within a week Samuel Cobham received a letter from the chief commanding officer stating.
All applications under Government orders were a present on hold due to a forthcoming ballot for selected boys to train for the mining industry. When the scheme has finally been ratified and the chosen first batch compulsory called for training and your son James Cobham not included in the ballot, then he can present himself to Sandhurst for an interview. So until I hear from you after the result of his call up registration. I wish you well and hope to see you in the future time.
                         Yours faithfully
                              Major B Harcourt

Samuel Cobham read the letter several times in disbelief. ‘I can’t understand it.’ He said at breakfast. ‘Put on hold? What on earth does the fool mean?’
‘It just means we shall have to wait father. ‘If I’m to be conscripted in the coalmines then so be it. At least I’d still be doing my duty to King and Country.’
‘What are you saying James? Have you no pride? When the war is over what then. Where is your honour? No medals no photograph in officers uniform. No status for a position in the city. You must be out of your senses boy.’

It was the first time James had witnessed such pomposity from his father and felt he wanted to burst out laughing. ‘But father if the getting of coal wasn’t such a serious matter, then why should the Government take such a drastic step. After all we do need fuel for munitions, ships – well almost everything really. We could lose the war even.’
‘Nonsense James it’s nothing more than a propaganda exercise. There’s plenty of coal.’
Victoria Cobham sat quietly listening then handing James his cup of tea said. ‘James if you were called to be a miner. Would you mind?’
‘I don’t know mother. I have no idea what it would be like. But then I don’t know what the army would be like either. So I shall have to accept what comes.’
‘Yes James.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose duty to your country is duty whatever form it takes. However it may not come to that. I’m certain you will return from the war as an officer and a gentleman with full colours.’
‘Well we shall see mother. Either way so long as I come out of it alive.’
‘Oh don’t - don’t James. I couldn’t bear to think of it.’ She said with a whimper.    

Samuel Cobham flicked through the Times studying stock market trends. ‘Well I’m thankful I’m not involved in that lot.’
‘What is that dear?’ said, Victoria buttering her toast.
‘Well. Coal mining, the industry has plummeted.’
‘There you are father.’ Said James, giving him a sly look. ‘There is a shortage of coal.’
‘Yes and why James I ask you why?’
‘Lack of miners I suppose father.’
‘Precisely. Instead of sticking to their jobs they opt out in favour of the military and my son of officer material might be forced to do their dirty work for them.’
‘Well you can’t blame them father for wanting to better themselves.’
‘Better themselves?’ said Cobham, with a huff. ‘How can a man with a pick and shovel better himself?’
‘There’s no harm in trying father.’
‘You are right James.’ Said Victoria, pouring more tea. ‘Every one has to start from the bottom and you can’t go much deeper than that.’
James gave a slight snigger pleasing his mother at her little pun. They then finished their breakfast in silence save for an irritating rustle of Samuel’s newspaper.

Within a week James received a buff envelope marked HMS. Inside a card stating he was to report at Westminster Recruiting Centre for a medical examination.
‘I have received my call up papers father.’ He said going into his father’s study. ‘I have to go for a medical examination next Monday.’
‘And where is it to be held?’ said his father, staring at the buff envelope.
‘Westminster Recruiting Centre.’ He said placing the card on the desk.
‘Good. Army. Once you have passed A1 then we can get onto Sandhurst.’
‘Then it is to be the army then father?’
‘Of course boy’, he said with a smirk. ‘What do you think Recruiting Centres are for?’

The study door opened and Victoria Cobham came in, her face tearful. ‘I have been thinking Samuel. Suppose James does not pass his medical examination they won’t send him into those mines will they?’
‘Certainly not Victoria, James is as fit as a fiddle and you would have to pass A1 anyway to work in a mine. However my dear that is not to be. James will be accepted at Sandhurst and that will be that.’
‘Yes dear.’ She said, worried. ‘I expect you’re right.’
‘No doubt about it Victoria our son is of officer material and that will be that.’

On the following Monday morning James presented himself at Westminster Recruiting Centre. He felt nervous, as the hall was quite daunting with its high-beamed roof and plain gothic windows from which the morning sun beamed across like a searchlight. The hall was orderly with rows of young men sitting holding their buff envelopes in readiness to be called for an examination. James gave his name to a military standing just inside the door. He was told to take a seat and wait until called. He sat next to a fair young man in a pinstriped suit. James nodded and wished him a good morning. For several minutes they sat in silence observing to various comings and goings of personnel.  ‘What are you opting for?’ said the young man, glancing at James.
‘The army, my father wants me to go to Sandhurst.’
‘Shouldn’t you have had your examination there. This place is a recruiting centre.’
‘Yes but I have to pass a medical here first, and then go on from there. What are you going for?’
‘Navy. That’s if they’ll have me.’
‘A seaman?’ said James, taking in the slight cockney accent.
The boy gave a slight smirk. ‘Well it won’t be an admiral that’s for sure.’
‘Just left school have you?’
‘Not likely mate I’ve been working since I was fourteen on the market.’
‘Which one?’ said James thinking it might have been the stock exchange?
‘Covent Garden of course, where else?’
‘Yes of course.’ Said James embarrassed.
‘Where have you been working mate?’
‘I’ve not. I’ve just finished my last term at Westminster School.’
The young man gave him another sideways look. ‘I thought you sounded posh.’
James could feel himself blush. He’d forgotten he would be alongside a mixed bag. Here he would be treated like all the others, just fodder for the military. They intermittently moved forward from one chair to another until it was their turn to enter the examination hall.
Then it was the young man’s turn. ‘Well good luck mate.’ He said, turning to James. ‘Thank you, same to you.’ Said James, watching him go.
 
A few minutes later a sergeant major beckoned him and pointed his stick towards Examination. James rose and went into a hall full of naked bodies. He was told to strip off and leave his clothes on a long bench. He did so without any embarrassment. He been used to naked bodies in the showers at school, so unlike others, shielding their parts with their hands, he just stood and waited. The examination took less than five minutes and passed A1. He was then told to get dressed and present himself to the recruiting officers in an adjoining room. There were three men in smart military uniform representing the Army. Navy. and Air force.
James went straight a desk marked ARMY and presented himself. The officer held out his hand for James’s medical card and call-up papers. ‘So you’ve opted for the army Mr. Cobham? Said the officer, checking James’s name.
‘Yes sir.’ Said James afraid to even mention Sandurst.
He stood nervously watching the officer scrutinize his medical card and papers.
He then handed them back to James. ‘Sorry Mr. Cobham we are unable to accept you for the army.’
James stood open-eyed in shock. ‘May I ask why sir?’
‘Because your National Service number indicates you have been conscripted into the coal mines.’
‘Coal mines?’ said James, stunned.
‘Yes. Sorry Mr. Cobham. You are in the hands of the Ministry of Labour now. A good day to you.’

James left the Medical Centre stunned. He felt almost afraid to go home. He wandered past the Houses of Parliament looking drab and foreboding even in the midday sun. Parts of Westminster still showing scars from the bombings. He walked on into Trafalgar Square to Lyons Corner House and ordered a toasted sandwich and a cup of coffee. The place was packed with military and civilians taking a lunch break. The sight of uniforms depressed him. His father had hopes of him becoming a military officer. But such were dashed. He began to wonder what it would be like to be a miner. He’d seen films as ‘The Stars Look Down’ and ‘How Green Was My Valley’ but guessed they weren’t real coalmines, just film sets and the leading men assimilating Welsh and Northern accents. So that was nothing to go on. He didn’t feel afraid for he reasoned if others could do it so could he. After all, if he had eventually become an officer in the army he might have had to face more dangerous traumas than working in a mine. That didn’t bother him. He was young open minded and prepared to do anything so long as it brought the war to an end.

He finished his coffee and made his way down the Mall and across St. James Park through St. Ann’s gate and across to Belgravia. Helen their maid let him in. ‘How did you get on Master James?’ she said, taking his hat.
‘Not very well Helen you’ll hear about it later’ he said, going towards his father’s study.
‘Oh dear Master James.’ She said hanging his hat on a stand. ‘I hope they haven’t rejected you?’
James gave a nod of the head and opened the study door.

His father was at his desk writing. He looked up and saw James reluctantly coming towards him. ‘Ah. James. Just in time I am writing a letter to Sandhurst to say that you had had your medical and passed A1. And could they grant you an interview within the next few days. ‘So James you did pass A1 didn’t you?’
‘Yes father.’ He said solemnly.
‘Good. Well that is that then. I suppose they wanted to recruit you into the army there and then?’
‘No. Father. To tell you the truth I was rejected.’
‘Rejected!’ What on earth do you mean James.’ – Rejected.’
‘They couldn’t accept me for the army as I’d been balloted in the coal mines.’
‘What!’ said his father, slinging his pen across the desk ‘Coal mines, my son a coal miner, preposterous.’
‘I’m afraid there is nothing I can do about it father.’
‘You can’t but I can.’ Said Cobham picking up the phone.
‘What are you going to do father?’ said James nervously.
‘You’ll soon see. I’m not in the stock market business for nothing. I do have friends in high places.’
‘Hello. Operator. Get me the War Office please. ‘I want to speak to Minister Ernest Bevin.’
There was a long pause. James felt more nervous than ever. His father daring to speak to a War Minister ought to realize he was treading on dangerous ground.
‘What do you mean sir. Am I a Minister? I’m in management Stock Exchange. I want to speak to Bevin about my son. They have had the audacity to conscript him into the coal mines by some fool of a ballot.’
‘The law what do you mean the law? My son has been chosen as a candidate for Sandhurst.’ 
There was another long pause. He could see twists and turns in his father’s face as though about to explode. ‘What? Yes that is his registration number. So suppose my son refuses to be conscripted into the wretched mines. What then?’
‘Prison! What for refusing to go down some damn pit?’
The door opened and in came Victoria clutching chiffon scarf. ‘Is everything all right dear? She said, putting her hand on James’s shoulder.
‘No mother.’ Said James in a whisper. ‘Father is talking to the War Office.’
‘Not Mr Churchill surely.’ She said, twisting her scarf.
‘No I’m not going to give you my name. Don’t you people realize there is a war on.’ With that he slammed down the telephone.
‘What is the matter dear’? She said going up to his desk.
‘That is what’s the matter Victoria,’ he said pointing a stubby finger at James’s registration card. ‘The damn fools have conscripted him into the coal mines.’
‘Oh no not James.’ She said starting to sway. ‘Not a coal miner.’ She then fell backwards into James’s arms.
‘Get some brandy father. She’s fainted.’

 

A week later, James received a letter informing him to report to Oakdale Miners Training Centre near Newport South Wales the following Monday April 7th 1943.
His father had tried all avenues to exempt James from the conscription but all to no avail. It was only when he learned from colleagues that Lord and lady Astor’s son, Harcourt Astor, had also been balloted into the coal mines, did Samuel Cobham finally back down.

Monday for the Cobham’s was bleak. Samuel hardly ate any breakfast and Victoria went into spasms of weeping.
‘It might not be as bad as you think Mother. Anyway I shall still be on National Service for my country.
‘Yes and nothing to show for it, no medals nothing’ said his father. ‘And what about references for work when you are dismissed. Coal miner is hardly going to look good for a position on the Stock Market.’
‘But there’s Lord Astor’s son and others of the gentry, are more or less in the same boat. As I have said father it is all part of National Service.’
‘Well at least I’ve tried to get you out of it.’ Said, his father flicking at The Times.’
‘Yes and thank you father, I can only do my best.’
‘I don’t know what I shall tell them at the Guild meeting.’ Said Victoria, sniffing.
‘Just tell them the truth mother. After all I am conscripted.’
‘Better to say nothing Victoria’ said Samuel, peering over his newspaper.’ Keep changing the subject. Just say James is on a secret underground mission. That should shut them up.’
James felt he wanted to burst out laughing. Sometimes people can be so stupid. He thought, why can’t they just accept the situation and leave it at that.’

Helen came in and brought the toast. ‘I’ve packed your things Master James and some food to eat on the train.’ She said, placing the toast on the table.
‘Thank you Helen, I expect it will be a long journey.’
‘Yes. Wales. A foreign country, will be a bit different from London.’
‘I expect it will Helen. But some nice countryside.’
‘ Mountains of coal slag.’ grunted his father.

James left his mother in tears and his father not so much as a good bye. If he’d been going to Sandhurst he’d have had the flags out, he thought. Helen shed a tear or two and gave him a kiss. His father did condescend to order him a taxi to the station, which he took to be some kind of approval.  As for himself James wasn’t bothered one way or another. He began to look upon it as a kind of adventure for better or worse it will be an experience he thought.
Apart from Westminster School, he’d lived the life of a recluse. His mother and father were never affectionate parents; James was just their duty. They did have holidays at Bognor Regis but rarely left their hotel except to lounge on the terrace. His father reading the habitual Times and Stock Exchange Revue and his mother her novel and embroidery. James was allowed to go on the beach but warned not to talk to strangers. He envied families that sat together picnicked and played cricket on the sands. He felt there was a warmth and closeness between them his own parents lacked. One family invited him to join them. He was quite good at cricket and although they guessed he was ‘posh’ accepted him and admired his skill and pleasant talk.

Their hotel the ‘Imperial’ well appointed with a sea view from their bedrooms. Clientele were much of the same ilk as his parents. A small orchestra played on Tuesdays and Fridays during afternoon tea and those of a frivolous nature took to the pocket size dance floor and danced. On these days James was allowed to stay longer on the beach or watch a Punch and Judy show on the pier of which he felt beyond that kind of diversion. He much preferred to stand on the end of the pier and watch boats from the port of Harwich saunter across the horizon and disappear, towards Denmark. Sweden or Hook of Holland. They were dreamboats as were the people who sailed on them and such for him, he thought could never be.
His daydreaming soon came to an end when the taxi pulled up at Victoria Station. He showed his train warrant to the guard and boarded a train to Cardiff. The carriages were mostly full of military both British and American. Feeling out of place and a slight sense of guilt, he confined himself to a far corner of the carriage. Three American soldiers joked amongst themselves whilst the British smoked and sat stolidly staring at bygone photographs of seaside resorts. James pretended to be asleep and dreaded any questioning as to why he wasn’t in the army. Though he did remember seeing a poster on the station. [Careless Talk Costs Lives] so he guessed it was safe to keep silent.
He changed for Newport and with others taken by an army lorry to Oakdale Hostel.

View Synopsis View Information Purchase Options