A Girl in Wartime by Maggie Ford Read Free Book Online Page B

to her brothers, sometimes she felt as if her sisters looked down on her a little, maybe because she was the youngest, and sometimes it hurt. But they looked down on George more. Surely, he must know what they all thought of him after Bert and Ronnie had practically fallen over themselves to enlist, while he hung back, still quoting that same old phrase:
Thou shalt not kill!
He seemed quite impervious to others’ opinion of him, and sometimes Connie felt hardly able to look at him let alone speak to him.
    Her thoughts went suddenly to the man who’d interviewed her today, Mr Clayton: good looking, healthy, of fighting age, she’d judged. So why wasn’t he in the forces? Was journalism an exempt role? She didn’t think so. Had he even attempted to volunteer as her brothers had done? To believe such a thing would destroy these feelings he had conjured up inside her, feelings that even now were unsettling her.
    Hastily she turned her mind away from speculation. What the man did was nothing to do with her. She had her own life to worry about. He had at least made her think more seriously about this artistic talent she had.
    Dad called it messing about. For all that her eldest sister had liked the portrait of baby Henry, mostly she and Lilian sneered at her efforts and said it was about time she grew up. Her two brothers had no opinion and for that she was glad. Only George showed any interest, taking her drawings seriously, and for that she loved him and tolerated him more than the rest of the family. Mum, of course, was proud of her talent – said it came from her side, although none of it had seemed to come down to any of the others. Now she prayed that she’d get this wonderful opportunity, whatever it turned out to be, to use it. All she could do was keep her fingers crossed.
    Upstairs George heard his sister come in and vaguely wondered at the reason for her being home so early from work, though his thoughts were elsewhere. Since his two brothers had enlisted, Dad kept calling him yellow, scared. He’d talked about it with his minister, Joseph Wootton-Bennett, who in his strong, assertive voice had advised him to trust his Bible that said emphatically, thou shalt not kill.
    â€˜It says exactly what it means, my boy, and you can’t get away from that for it comes from the very mouth of God Himself. You are one of my most dedicated parishioners. Surely you would not go against the teaching of Our Lord and look to slay your fellow man? Yes, they are wrong to walk into another’s country, but ending a man’s God-given life will not solve the situation, my son. All you will succeed in doing is cutting short that man’s life – a man who may have been given no choice but to obey his superiors – and cause his parents to grieve for the son they had probably brought up tenderly, with love, in the hope of him living a long and useful life, marrying, begetting children, until God Himself called him. Condemn his wife to be a widow? Orphan his children? And why? Because this country says you must go against God’s Law and kill your fellow man, a man you have never met. You know it is wrong, my son.’
    Yes, it was wrong. He trusted his pastor implicitly. A non-conformist, Joseph Wootton-Bennett may have been at odds with the sentiments of most other churches, but his aim was to help the poor, the sick, the needy, expecting members of his congregation to do the same. How then could he go against such a man whose teaching made more sense than orthodox religion, which looked on those willing to go off to kill their fellow man with pride? Now, with his brothers having rushed off to join up, he was beginning to find himself in disgrace, his beliefs misunderstood.
    â€˜You’re scared!’ his father had mocked after another argument at Christmas. ‘Bloody scared out of your pants while your brothers are fightin’ for their country.’ Well, they weren’t