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Page 32 text:
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30 Carleton College Year Book 1944-45 Glad to have met you. When you get to England, watch out for the family ghost. Give my regards to your father. Good luck! Thank you, sir, Bentham said and turn- ing about, he left the room. Pk Sf Ulf Ulf It was nearing midnight of a day in the late spring of 1941 at a lonely spot on the south-east coast of England. The tide was in, and the restless waters of the North Sea lapped high up on the rugged shore-line. Instead of the usual dense fog and cold, pene- trating rain, the weather was fine and the air bracing, with only the occasional patch of drifting mist. At times a full moon peeped out through the clouds, throwing into bold relief the entire scene in every detail. The most prominent object was a round Martello tower about forty feet in height and twenty feet in diameter, built of solid stone. Its imposing silhouette symbolized Britain at bay, although it had been pat- terned after the fortress at Cape Mortella, in Corsica, which resisted the English fleet in 1794. It had been erected at the beginning of the nineteenth century for the defence of the Realm. Many others .had been built then at strategic points along the east and south coasts, but most of them have long ago fallen into ruin. Two sentries in modern battle-dress, each carrying a bayonetted rifle at the slope, could be seen pacing their beats. These beats ex- tended about 200 yards in opposite directions from the tower. Each sentry marched to the limit of his beat where he met the sentry of the adjoining guard, then on returning they met in front of the tower. The Martello tower, now the guard-house of the -th Battery, R.C.A., was completely blacked out. The old entrance, about twenty feet from the ground, and attainable only by means of a drawbridge, had been bricked up and a new one forced at the ground level. Inside the door hung a blackout curtain: the trap-door and winding staircase leading to the roof, where a century ago a single tra- versing gun had been mounted, had been changed into a light-proof ventilator. Not a pin-prick of light escaped. Inside the guard-room all was quiet. On palliasses around the room several men slept peacefully, their kits and rifles beside them. The only light came from the glow- ing charcoal embers in a brazzer in the middle of the circular room. By the fire, on upturned boxes, sat an N.C.O. and two meng they were fully dressed, even to the tin hat. The N.C.O. looked at his watch and addressed one of the men: Bentham, you came up to relieve the man who went sick tonight-have you ever been on this guard before? No, Corporal, this will be my first trick. Well, here are your orders. You will take the south beat, your limit is the little sentry-box, where you will meet the sentry of the next guard. This week that section is held by an English home ,defence bat- talion. You will stay about five minutes. at that post and must contact the English sentry. If he is not there, wait for him in the sentry- box. There is a lookout in each side of it. so you will be able to see in either direction. Is that clear? Perfectly, replied Bentham. Of course, added the N.C.O., you will challenge all persons who approach your beat, report the approach of enemy aircraft or any craft by water and, above all, keep your eye skinned for the orderly officer. He looked at his watch again. l All right, boys. Time's up. Let's go! Bentham had mounted guard. He leaned on his rifle in front of the old tower. The sky was quickly becoming overcast, the fog was thickening. There was a light wind blowing in his face and the air had a strong, salty tang. He watched the dark waters tumble up on shore, then gurgle back among the rocks to meet the next breaker. The waves came in with a crash and went out with a hiss. Long strings of seaweed hung from the partly submerged barbed-wire en- tanglementsg they swayed back and forth with the ebb and flow. Bentham looked out across the sea and thought of the terrible scourge that was sweeping the Continent. It could happen here. Would barges filled with Hun troops float across these waters some dark night? Would the Nazi soldiers clamber up these rocks and overrun the fair fields of Eng- land? . . . Britain had been unmolested for a thousand years. Napoleon never attempted the invasion he had planned. But these shores at that time had been scrupulously guarded . . . And perhaps the sentry at this place-on this very spot . . . Gunner Bentham brought his rifle up to the slope, turned right, and made his way along the beaten path. When he reached the sentry-box, Ben- tham noticed that it was occupied. He could dimly see the profile of a grizzled home- guarder framed in the diamond-shaped open- ing. It was wonderful how these courage- ous oldsters drawn from every station of rank and fortune had responded to their country's call! They had left office, factory, shop or a well-earned retirement to don the khaki and take their place on the home front in defence of their Blessed Isle. They en- dured with dogged stoicism all the rigours and hardships of a soldier's life. Bentham drew close to the sentry-box. Good night, sir, he said, respectfully. He waited a moment, but there was no reply. Again he spoke, this time, louder: I say, old soldier! But there was no response. Not a sound broke the eerie stillness but the crash and swish of the waves upon the
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Page 31 text:
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Carleton College Year Book 1944-45 29 Prize A ten dollar War Savings Certificate was offered as the prize in a short story con- test, the winning entry to be published in the Year Book. Dr. Leechman very kindly acted as judge, and the winning entry is published below. PHANTOM SOLDIER By James S. Patrick The recruiting officer looked up from the attestation paper into the face of -the young man. Your name is Bentham-Robert A. Bentham? Yes, sir. 1 The officer studied the boy critically. Called after your father who served in the -th Battery, C.F.A., in the last war? Why-er--yes, sir, replied the astonished recruit. The officer smiled indulgently and reached for a cigarette. Sit down, my boy, he said in a friendly way, my name is Gordon-Captain Gordon. I'd like to have a chat with you. It was a warm day in June, 1940, in the recruiting office of the R.C.A. at Toronto. The rush to the colours had dropped off and there was an air of leisure about the place which belied the stirring posters that hung all round the room. Bentham drew a chair up to the desk and sat down facing the officer. He was a well- built young chap about twenty years old, with fair, curly hair, regular features and a determined chin. Intelligence and resource- fulness looked out of his blue eyes. His sen- sitive mouth was inclined to part in a ready smile. Indeed, he was a typical example of our finest Canadian youth. I recognized you right away, said the officer, you're the dead spit of your father. He leaned back in his chair and continued reminiscently: Yes, your dad and I were close friends. We were brother sergeants in the battery. He was N.C.0. in charge of A Subsection and I had B Subsection. Our guns always came into action together and off duty we were inseparable. He was a good soldier and a great pal. By the way, where is he now, and what is he doing? He is in Ottawa, sir, in law practice. , And he is well? Yes, sir. Glad to hear it. Good old Bob! - Of course, I knew he'd make the grade-he had what it takes! You see, we were both stu- dents when the war broke out. We intended to finish our studies when it was over, he in law, I in science-but- ' he shrugged Story his shoulders, well--I never got round to it. He looked at the lad. And you, what have you been doing up till now? - I have just passed into third year in Arts, sir, in preparation for law. I intend to finish, he smiled grimly, when the war is over. Good! said the officer. I know you will-if you're a son of Bob Bentham. And you'll make a good soldier, too. I remember your dad's telling me you came from a long line of soldiers. His grandfather-that would be your great-grandfather-was in the army. He came out and settled in Upper Canada after the Napoleonic wars, didn't he? No, sir, corrected young Bentham, 'fthat was not exactly what happened. My great- grandfather disappeared while on duty with his regiment, which was guarding the south- east coast of England against the threatened invasion of .Napoleon's troops. Disappeared? Yes, sir. There was something mysteri- ous about it. He was on sentry duty one misty night and when the relief came on there was no trace of him. He was reported missing and finally presumed dead. That was rather strange. But how did the family come to settle in Canada? It was this way, explained the young man. My great-grandmother, who had three sons ranging from twelve to seventeen years of age, applied for a grant of land in Upper Canada and was settled near South March, on the Ottawa River. She was a strong, resourceful woman with vision. With the help of her boys, she cleared and im- proved the land, and she lived to see her bit of wilderness become one of the finest farms in the district. She was a grand old lady! And nothing was ever heard of your great-grandfather? mused the oflicer. No, sir, was the reply. Although when my father was on leave in London during the last war, he searched the records and found that several men belonging to my great-grandfather's regiment claimed to have seen him at his post, on foggy nights, long after his disappearance. However, they must have been mistaken, for neither he nor his rifle nor any part of his equipment was ever found. A very interesting story, indeed, ob- served the officer, and a bit of a mystery. He sat up abruptly, another recruit had entered the room. Bentham, he said in a crisp military tone, you will report to Brigade Head- quarters and will probably be sent to Peta- wawa Camp for training in a few days.
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