Flight of the Shaman



  “But when I looked into the mirror I cried out and my heart was shaken:

  For I did not see myself, I saw the sneer and grimace of a devil.”

  The Child with the Mirror

  ‘Thus Spoke Zaruthustra’

  Friedrich Nietzsche

 

 

  CHAPTER 1

  Copperfield Street Crusaders

  "Upstairs in the bottom of the wardrobe...get the best tablecloth Davey..." his mother called breathlessly as she staggered down the lobby with armfuls of plates, "Davey!" she screeched after him.

  "Yes Mum?" he halted.

  "Make sure it's not the cloth with a hole in it," she whispered.

  "Did you say, make sure it's not the one with a.." he called loudly but his mother interrupted with a scream of panic, "DAVEEE!" They both laughed as she busied her way into the street. She shouted after him, "and get a move on or you'll be late. Your uniform's hanging on the banister!" "That lad'll be the death of me," she muttered emerging into the hustle and bustle.

  "Lovely day for it Mrs Mac," called old Nick from his bedroom window as he finished tying a band of streamers in place, it was one of many that stretched across the street.

  "Aye Nick," sighed the woman.

  "What do you think of this then eh?" he asked pointing to the streamers.

  In black charcoaled letters, one letter to each small flag, his spidery hand had written COPPERFIELD STREET CRUSADERS 1914.

  "We'll give them boys a send off to remember," said Nick.

  "Aye, that we will Nick, that we will," she answered but feeling a lump rising in her throat she turned away from him and scanned the women and children thronging the street, "Coo-eee, coo-eee, Mrs Fegan," she called over the commotion.

  An incredibly fat woman wearing an incredibly grease-stained apron waddled up the street towards her, her stubby heels slipped and skidded over the worn cobbles causing her to sway perilously, children seeing the danger leapt from her path or hissed warnings of, AFatty Fegan!@

  "Oooh, best crockery Mrs McCann," she panted stabbing furiously with three fiercesome hat-pins at the tiny hat perched on top of her head as though it were some living-breathing animal whose life she was trying to extinguish, "we'll make sure the men get to use them plates they won't be eating off them where they're going."

  The tears welled up into Liz's eyes.

  Seeing the reaction to her words Mrs Fegan quickly added, "Me and me big mouth, come on girl don't you upset yourself now, weren't these from your grandmother?" Her thick hands took hold of the delicate plates and rested them precariously on her meaty forearms, "Lived down in Matthew Street didn't they?" She began spacing the plates on the trestle tables that stretched the length of the street, "we'll put these in pride of place," but sensing that her attempts at distraction were wasted she quickly put the pile down, "Come on then girl, let it all go," she held out her brawny arms welcoming the younger woman into them.

  The tears from Liz's eyes soaked the thick strap of her apron.

  Thick, ugly, tea-stained teeth were revealed as Mrs Fegan mouthed soundless words to another old woman over Liz's shoulder, "Fourth one today Mrs Murtagh." The other old woman nodded knowingly, it would have been a close run-contest between the two for ugliness, Mrs Murtagh had a large blob-shaped nose Athe Murtagh nose@ which competed with an almost equally large wart hanging alongside it, the two fleshy lumps often caused a darting eye-ball effect upon whoever she spoke to as they tried to view the appendages simultaneously. Mrs Fegan's hand waved her to assist in consoling the latest victim, "There, there, come on now," she said patting Liz on the back, "six months they say and it'll all be over, he'll be back before you know it."

  Her words produced a torrent of tears.

  When Davey finally appeared with the table cloth Mrs Murtagh was ready for him. "Now there's what I like to see, a man in uniform," she nodded her head towards his mother and whispered, "she'll be alright, it's been a long time building. Here! Give me that lovey, you run along now."

  "Are you sure she'll be alright Mrs Murtagh," said Davey looking concernedly towards his mother but was reassured by various facial contortions from Mrs Fegan, "Anything you want from Uncle Paddy?" he asked Mrs Murtagh.

  "You can tell that good for nothing from me that if I don't see him marching down this street with the rest of 'em then don't bother coming back home. Your dad's going to need looking after and my Paddy's the man for the job."

  "I'll tell him," called Davey running off.

  "Remember, tell him, don't bother coming back!" growled Mrs Murtagh emphasising the point by rolling up the sleeves of her house-coat.

  "He'd sooner face the Germans than her," laughed Davey to himself.

  Down Pecksniff Street and Dombey Street he ran, the flags were out, tables were laid, everyone was waiting for the parade. Feeling proud in his uniform; freshly pressed trousers, stiff black epauletted jacket and peak hat, polished brass bugle strung across his back, he managed to attract even more attention to himself by scraping the metal studs of his boots over the cobbles. The noise, combined with the sparks as steel struck flint, caused every head to turn and look at him. At Tony Toohey's house a group of girls were gathered across the street, his sister Aimie was one of them, he planted both feet firmly on the floor and skidded along, clattering like an express train, sending showers of sparks flying.

  "Whoaa!" he shouted as his feet slipped from under him. He landed heavily on his backside and went bouncing along, even as he bounced the screams and laughter of the girls hit him.

  "Good thing he's not going off to defend us!"

  "Think's he's riding a horse he does!"

  "Church Lads Brigade? More like the charge of the Light Brigade!"

  The girls ragged him unmercifully. Even the women forgot their troubles as they laughed until it hurt.

  Davey got to his feet. The intended blast on his bugle which was now even more dented than his pride, came out as a shrill shriek.

  "Stop him, he's killing me!" howled one of the girls who, like the rest of her friends, was doubled-over in fits of laughter.

  Davey knocked timidly on the open door.

  "Send him over on their side," jeered Aimie Toohey, "we'll win the war in a week!"

  "Hurry up Toots!" Davey called into the hallway.

  "What's the score then?" asked Toots sticking his head out the doorway, "what's everyone laughing at?"

  "No idea. You ready?" Davey asked hurriedly.

  "Be right with yer," he answered jamming on his peaked hat with the its distinctive "CLB" cap-badge. They were just about to set off but he remembered something. "Hang on a mo' I've forgot me bugle," he darted back in. Davey stood suffering further abuse until he re-emerged.

  "Left, left; left, 'ight, left," said Davey quietly. They marched off smartly clacking their heels in step but it wasn't enough to silence the girls.

  "Look at his ears!" one of them screamed.

  "They're bright red!" screamed another.

  "They talking about us?"

  Avoiding the question Davey answered, "We're meeting up behind the cathedral," but he could feel the stares burning into his already burning ears. The girls were still screeching as they turned into Nickleby Street

  "Our Aimie was with 'em, I'll give her a good hiding when I get home," promised Toots realising his friend's embarrassment. Davey was torn between wanting her to protect her and the desire for retribution. He was about to come down on the side of forgive and forget when another lad hailed them from across the street.

  "Hey up there!"

  ABazzer! How's it going?"

  Bazzer struggled to emerge through the narrow doorway to his house, he succeeded by walking backwards carrying hi
s snare drum in his hands, with a wide grin he threw the strap of the drum over his shoulder, took up his sticks and battered out the first few beats of the Brigade song. They marched on together singing the words,

  "Old King Cole was a merry old soul

  And a Merry Old Soul was he

  There's none so fair as can compare

  With the lads of the CLB!"

  Several more verses which grew steadily cruder were to follow before they reached the cathedral.

  "They're all here," said Davey pointing downhill towards the crowd gathered under the massive building's dark shadow, "I'm going to find me Dad!" off he ran away from his friends.

  It was a bright sunny day but a cool sea-breeze lifted off the River Mersey and sent a chill through the air, factories and dockyards sent their filthy smoke up to join the breeze darkening the sandstone walls of the cathedral from red to black. Some of the men raised their collars against the damp, many had just finished their shifts, they still wore their work clothes; heavy jackets and boots, trousers with patches on the knees and turnups at the bottoms stitched on to replace frayed edges.

  Davey searched amongst them but although he asked several times, "Have you seen me Dad?" no-one was able to help. The men milled around, a disorganised body about three hundred strong waiting for someone to organise them. That someone was ex-Colour Sergeant Cayden. Twenty years of bellowing orders hadn't done anything to weaken his voice.

  "LISTEN UP!" he roared above the hubbub. Powered by his barrel-chest his voice stilled everyone into silence, "I want you men fallen in, street by street, file by file. You're in the army now so the sooner you start acting like soldiers the better it'll be for all of us."

  "But you're not in the army now Colours!" quipped a voice from the crowd.

  "And it's a good thing for you I'm not!" retorted the sergeant.

  Groups started to gather together, "Arundel Avenue Raiders!" "Myrtle Street Marauders!" "Copperfield Street Crusaders," "Dombey and Sons!" each man joined his own street under the banner of its adopted name.

  "Dad!" called Davey seeing his father heading towards his street's banner. Several other men with sons his age looked in his direction but it was a small man with curly hair, thinning on the top, and wearing trousers that always seemed too big for him, who turned back.

  "Alright lad," he said, "by gosh you're looking smart.@ He waved towards a friend in the crowd, Aquite a turn-out eh? We all signed up together. Few more years and you could have joined us. Ironed them trousers yourself?" Davey nodded. "Smart. Is your mum alright?" Hugh knew that she would be taking it hard.

  "Fine Dad," said Davey. The past two weeks of her arguing and pleading with Hugh not to volunteer had been the only time in his life that he had heard his mother cry.

  The heavy thump of the big bass drum signalled the Church Lads Brigade to form up.

  "That's for the band, I'd better go."

  "See you at the party," called his father.

  Davey ran straight into the outstretched arms of a thick-set man. The man's hands gripped him round his arms and hoisted him into the air. "Hey lad, what's the hurry!" he boomed.

  "Uncle Paddy! Are you going to be in the parade?"

  "Nobody's going to be dropping white feathers through our door," he boomed planting Davey back on his feet, "it's not us workers that want to fight but nobody's goin' to call Paddy Murtagh a coward," he thumped himself on the chest.

  "Your mam'll be pleased, she said she wants you to look after me Dad."

  "Silly old woman, she's no idea. Look at them, like lambs to the slaughter, they think it's all a game, but yer Uncle Paddy'll be there for him," he looked thoughtful.

  The bass drum thumped out more urgently.

  "I'd better go, see you at the party!" called Davey.

  "Aye, let's celebrate," said Paddy quietly to himself.

  The Church Lads Brigade was placed at the head of the parade with the men behind, street by street, with banners fluttering. On the cathedral steps stood Colour Sergeant Cayden, alongside him clad in his robes and vestments the dean of the cathedral stood ready to give the men his blessing.

  "PARADE 'SHUN!" yelled the sergeant. The Brigade and some of the men with military training snapped smartly to attention, others stood looking bewildered.

  The sergeant yelled, AYou men have taken the king's shilling, tomorrow you will put on uniform and begin basic training, you will have the power of the king and the might of the British Empire behind you. You will defeat the Hun and return as heroes. I only wish I was going with you. Now let's hear three cheers, AND I MEAN CHEERS for yourselves!"

  The shout of several hundred men roared into the air, the noise hit the cathedral and echoed into the distance, all the surrounding neighbourhoods heard it, the streets which waited for the parade and the street parties went quiet as women and children stood and listened to the roar which carried across the rooftops.

  The dean's blessing, accompanied with a sprinkling of holy water, was short and simple; "Onward Christian soldiers marching off to war, with the cross of Jesus going on before." It was followed by the first drum rolls of the same hymn as the sergeant roared,

  "PAA... RADE WILL ADVANCE BY THE LEFT...FORWARD... MARCH!"

  The bass drum beat out the time as the whole mass of men stepped forwards,

  "LEFT, LEFT, LEFT, 'IGHT, LEFT," roared Cayden.

  Buglers joined in and blasted out, "Like a royal banner, on against the foe,@ the men in the column added their voices to each chorus "Onward Christian soldiers marching off to war...."

  They paraded through the Holy Land; John Street, then Matthew Street, James Street and Simon Street, everywhere women and children and older men, not fit for war, stood cheering them on.

  Colour Sergeant Cayden marched smartly alongside occasionally hissing out of the side of his mouth, AYOU! What do you think yer are? a camel!@ Out of co-ordination the man would strive to stop himself swinging his left arm forwards with his left leg and get back in step. Showing the compassionate side of his nature the sergeant would demonstrate the small skip necessary to break the ungainly gait.

  Davey was proud enough to burst, the Brigade played like it had never played before, Brian Kelly was tossing the mace, he threw it higher than ever and for the first time didn't drop it once.

  The band's instruments gleamed in the sun and dazzled the onlookers eyes, it was a parade to remember! Davey and Toots exchanged winks as behind them The Crusaders followed, the tiny figure of Hugh smiled as he looked ahead at his son.

  In Copperfield Street the excitement grew as they heard the parade approaching.

  "They've just left the Holy Land, they're moving into Dickens Land!" came old Nick's shouted commentary from his bedroom, he couldn't get down the stairs because of his arthritis. As "Pilgrim's Progress" floated through the air they could clearly hear the percussion instruments, xylophones and tambourines and knew it was getting closer.

  "They're in Nickleby Street!" cried one, "No its Pecksniff Street!" argued another.

  "He who would valiant be 'gainst all disaster," sang the men.

  "Let him in constancy follow the master," blasted the bugles in competition with the men for that and the next line.

  All the instruments joined together for, "His first avowed intent, to be a pilgrim!"

  Horses reared and whinnied as the parade passed.

  ADoesn't he look smart.@ AYou just fancy him,@ said the girls in Dombey Street as Davey passed blowing for all he was worth. Then the bugles went quiet as the drums took up the interval between songs, the big bass with "Church Lads Brigade" painted in bright blue letters upon both its faces, boomed out on its own, marking time with the thousands of steel studs which struck the stones. Some of the men carried broom-sticks as imaginary rifles, those who knew drill moved the sticks through, "Slope arms, order arms, present arms."

  The snares joined in with their rat-a-tat-tat, they sent a pony and trap hurtling off as the high-spirited animal took fright.
As the mace-bearer directed the column into Copperfield Street bugles sounded the first few bars of a song they all knew well.

  "LET'S HEAR IT LADS!" roared Colour Sergeant Cayden.

  "It's a long way to Tipperary,"

  Davey waved to his mum as the Brigade passed by, she was smiling and waving with all the other women of the street.

  It's a long way from home"

  "It's a long way to Tipperary," At this point Hugh came alongside his wife, their eyes met and flooded with tears as she heard his voice yelling above everyone else to her and to her alone,

  "To the sweetest girl I know..."

  Goodbye Piccadilly

  Hello Leicester Square

  It's a long long way to Tipperary but my heart lies there".

  Like many other wives Liz buried her face into her pinny and sobbed. The older women took bunches of the younger women into their arms and tried to console them.

  The band and men passed by until its sound faded. The atmosphere in the street wasn't what it had been but Mrs Fegan took charge. "Ladies, Ladies, Ladies!" she screeched until everyone turned towards her, "the men'll back soon, let's make sure we have a good party, get rid of the tears and be happy for them, they won't want to remember us like this." The women pulled themselves together, dried their eyes, went into their two-up, two-downs and began ferrying food to the tables.

  Before long the men returned rolling two kegs of ale before them.

  "What a spread!" exclaimed Davey seeing all the tables filled to overflowing. He said the names of everything he saw as if savouring the taste, "Ginger beer, lemonade, sandwiches, apples, oranges, ham, sausages, biscuits....Dad!" His father ruffled his hand through his son's hair. "Quite a spread eh son!"

  "So you've taken the shilling have yer!" exclaimed Mrs Murtagh, "Liz!" she called, "don't you be worrying about your Hughie, my Paddy's goin' to be there to look after him."

  Liz forced herself to smile, Hugh joked, "Now I have got problems! But the first thing he can do is fetch me a pint! Paddy, give them a hand over there!"

  A group of men were struggling with one of the barrels trying to lift it on top of a low wall. Paddy walked across, "Mind yer backs there lads, I'll be dealing with this boyo," he grabbed the barrel in a bear-hug. "Heeep!" he exclaimed as he straightened his legs and lifted the barrel onto the wall. "I don't know, if you want a job doing you're best doing it yerself," he took hold of the tap, "Pass us that there mallet will yer Johno," then with an almighty belt he thumped the tap home.

  "A pint for half-pint Hughie!" he quipped as he passed the glass to his friend.

  "Yer great lump, cheers Paddy!" said Hugh.

  The party got underway, "Some more cheese Mr Murtagh?" "Can you pass me the ham," "Any pickles?" Best behaviour disguised a free-for-all; families sat together alongside their neighbours, food and drink was passed around until every stomach groaned under the strain, even the babies burbled as milk from their mothers, heavily laden with ale, was fed into them.

  "Another piece of cake Hughie?" asked Liz placing a huge chunk of chocolate cake before him as if trying to fill him up so much before he went away that he'd never need feeding again.

  "I'm fit to burst," said Hugh but loosened his belt buckle by several notches to allow room for more.

  When every last morsel had been cleared Mrs Fegan again took control.

  "Right ladies!" she screeched, "let's clear this lot away. You fellers shift yerselves!"

  The men moved together and sat laughing and joking together as the women worked away, they were being treated like lords and the beer stopped them from worrying what the future held in store. Outside they sat, smoking their pipes until the sun went down and the barrels had been drained then one by one they made their way into their homes.

  "Everything alright Liz," Hugh asked his wife quietly, she sat finishing off the scarf she was knitting for him, "Has Davey gone to bed?"

  Liz looked across to her husband, she put down her knitting and got up, crossed the room and hugged him as though she would never let him go.

  "Come on girl, don't start going all weak and soppy on me, it's going to be a rough ride and I want to know that my girl is able to cope with it."

  "Oh don't go worrying about me now Hughie, I'll be alright," she paused, "it's just that I'll miss you."

  "Well if what they're saying is true it shouldn't be for long and I'll be home again. Some of the lads signed up today because they didn't want to miss out, it could be that quick."

  "Can we sit and read together?" she asked, "I don't want to waste a minute of to-night."

  Hugh took the family Bible from the shelf over the fireplace, "Come on then girl, sit here," he made room for her next to him on the sofa and put his arm around her.

  They flicked through the pages, "Let's read this one called The True Vine, it's such a beautiful picture," said Liz.

  By flickering gaslight Hugh read the passage but his voice stuttered when he reached, "Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends..."

  Liz could not control herself, she broke her heart and Hugh knew not to stop her.

  Davey heard the heavy sobs. He lay in the darkness and was scared for his father.