Ghost Division

Concluding Marching Orders and Front Row Seats

Published in

The Junction

7 min readOct 31, 2018

A hundred-and-some years ago, in the village where I live now, twenty-two young men did what young men all over Europe were doing, and enlisted in their country’s armed forces on the first day of what we now call the First World War. The local museum has a picture of them taken that day, standing outside the barn that is now the house next door to mine. There’s no key to which man is which; even a local historian descended from more than one of them can only put names to a few.
Since I first saw it, they’ve been clamouring, beseeching me to make sure that the living remember who they were and what they did. Most came back home; some didn’t. So I’ve collected all the facts I can that are the foundation of their stories, and one day I’ll have them all written up and may be able to put a few more names on the picture. Then they can be at peace.
One man in the picture was not from the village.

Wake up, Teddy, I think we’ve arrived.

’Oo are we lookin’ for again?

His name’s Arthur Arnold.

Anuvver Arfur. Jus’ my luck to ’ave two Arfurs in me squad.

Be thankful that he’s not another Arthur Brown. If an officer called out “Arthur Brown, two paces forward!” half the Army would be on the move.

Is ’e onna front row like us?

No, he’s — over there. They’re saying his name, and he’s — can you see?

Yer. Cor! He’s a big lad, inne? Come on, let’s go an’ listen.

He’s seen us, too.

Who are you? And who the hell are these people?

Private Arthur Brown, 6th Lincolnshires, Lance-Corp.

Private Teddy Button, First Sarf African Infantry.

You don’t look African. Why hain’t you black?

I emigrated, didn’ I? Then they bleedin’ sent me back. And then ’ere.

And these old duffers? What do they want?

I think they want you to rest, Lance-Corp.

’Ere, are you a pukka Lance-Corporal? That stripe don’t look like it’s attached proper, if you ask me.

I didn’t hask you. What d’you mean, rest?

’Ow old are you?

None of your business, snot-rag.

I reckon you’re not more’n nineteen. ’Ow old woz you when you joined up? What you reckon, Arfur? ’E woz just a nipper!

I don’t think it matters any more. We’re all dead. We’ve been dead a hundred years.

’Ow’d you do it, then? Slip the recruitin’ sergeant an extra ’alf-crown?

You’ll be on a charge if you don’t shut your trap.

Come on, you two, there’s no sense in fighting. We’re all proof of that. And look at him, Teddy, he’s twice your size.

An’ ’e’s ’arf your age!

You —

Hush. Listen to what they’re saying.

— Arthur, we can’t find your name on a memorial. Everybody else is on one, all the boys from the village, but not you. We’ve looked in all the villages around, where your mother lived, where she moved to, everywhere.

What’s this about memorials? What are they talking about?

At home. Every town, every village in the country, wherever we came from, there’s a stone with all our names on, all us dead ones. Mine’s in Gainsborough. They’ve seen it.

Mine’s in Cape Town, I should fink. Nobody’d remember me in London.

— We could have had your name called, at the Tower, only we didn’t know about you then. Sorry.

Tower?

The Tower of London. There was a ceremony, every night for months, we were called. Me, Teddy here, about twenty thousand others. A whole Division’s worth.

What’s special about you?

Nothing. People wanted us to be remembered, that’s all.

People wot didn’t bleedin’ know us. Fink o’ that, eh?

And what do they know about my mother?

Listen.

— We’re going to get your name added to one of the stones, and your story told. You deserve it.

What are they talking about? Nobody knows my story.

I reckon they prob’ly know it all. They know ours. You wanna tell us before they do?

Teddy’s right. They do know, and they will tell. It would be better in your own voice.

I — I joined up on the first day, first chance I hed.

I didn’t.

Hush, Teddy.

I’d always wanted to be in the Army. Even without the war, I’d ha’ joined the Army. I was always bigger than other boys my age. I was good at fighting. And I was good in the Army. I was Lance-Corporal before a year was up.

Not for long though, eh? It says Private on your slab.

I will swing for you if you don’t —

It’s a bit late for that. Teddy, let him alone.

I could ha’ been an officer, if I’d lived. If I hedn’t lost my stripe.

Why’d they take it off yer?

Disobeying an order.

Well, why din’t you say? We’ve all done that.

I knew better than the Captain. He wouldn’t listen. I hedn’t been to Eton like he hed.

Wot’s Eton?

It’s a school, for posh boys.

Boys who’d never known the inside of the workhouse.

You’re a work’ouse boy too? Look, I keep sayin’ this, but why din’t you say?

And I keep saying, it’s none of your business.

I think you’re wrong there, it’s everyone’s business now. We’re part of history. These people, the living, want to remember us in the best light. All the good we did, all the good we could have done.

I could’a bin the best plumber in Cape Town. The best plumber in Africa!

I could have been the best father in Lincolnshire. I could have seen my little girls grow up.

I could ha’ been nineteen.

Cor, strike a light! You woz —

Fourteen. When I joined up I was fourteen. That’s reight. I hed to join up somewhere they didn’t know me. I walked ’leven miles there, and ’leven miles back. We got our picture taken, standing by a pond, and a ride in a motor-car. I’d never been in a motor-car before.

We ’ave. We come ’ere in one, wiv them two. Bin all over France in it. Motor-cars ’ave changed since our day, I’ll tell yer!

I went all over the world. I’ve been to Africa too, to Egypt. Then here.

And?

And what?

You know.

Sniper. A lucky shot.

It’s what they were trained for. Ours were the same.

But why did it hev to be me?

If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else.

The tide was turning. The ’Mericans were helping. We were starting to win.

It was a war. Nobody wins in a war.

Nobody ’oo’s in it. ’Ere — there ain’t a war on now, is there?

Not a fighting war, not like we knew. Not here.

Then I reckon them livin’ ought to be exceedin’ grateful to us, don’t you? Shame they can’t show it!

Can’t they? I think they’re trying. Listen.

— and you’re There But Not There, if anyone ever was.

Wot they talkin’ abaht? It don’t make sense.

It sounds like me. Never where I was s’posed to be, never s’posed to be where I was. There But Not There. Yes.

Arthur, would you like your stripe back?

And how could I get my stripe back?

Through the judgement of your peers. Teddy?

’Sall the same to me.

Then by my authority as the oldest man here, I’m giving you back your stripe. What are your orders, Lance-Corporal Arnold?

Thenk you, Private Brown. You men — Fall in!

Huh. Jus’ like old times. Not wot I call restin’. Where are we goin’, then?

Divisional Headquarters. To await further orders.

Just us?

How d’you mean?

Look, all around us. All these men, wakin’ up.

Oh. There must be a whole battalion here.

Yer. And another where I’m planted. More’n a battalion. And the Canadians, Australians, Indians — more’n a division, more’n an army. Frogs and Fritzes too, I should fink, in their own places. Yanks, you said. All of ’em, all bein’ remembered, all over the world. We still lookin’ for Headquarters?

Listen —