A Time for Peace by Marg Roberts

Author:Marg Roberts
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cinnamon Press
Published: 2017-01-29T00:00:00+00:00

Thirty lads, aged between seventeen and fourteen, along with families and luggage, clustered across the square. Kit bags, knapsacks, belongings tied into parcels with twine, string or rope were piled by the wagons. Even though it was dusk, some lads kicked a football, using the water trough under the gas lamp as a goal. Mothers huddled over sons. Animals, refugee bivouacs, carts not belonging to their unit and wounded soldiers fought a passage through the mêlée.

In search of Audrey doing medical examinations, keen to tell her of the Luger, Ellen followed Matron’s voice to the back of a wagon. From her tone, clipped consonants, she sounded angry.

She stood between the shafts of the wagon loaded with tents, holding a sheaf of papers and a pencil. A small boy, his face hidden behind shoulder length hair perched on the top of three steps.

‘Excuse me, Matron. Have you seen Audrey?’ Ellen asked.

Matron jabbed the pencil in the air. ‘Miss Frankland! Will you speak to the child? He refuses to move, refuses to utter a single word.’

‘I must reassure Audrey about something.’

‘According to his father he speaks excellent English, but we have no evidence of it.’

Ellen looked at the child. White shorts, green knitted jumper, bare feet. He peered at her beneath lowered eyelids. ‘He’s not one of ours, is he?’

‘Mitar Petrovic. We’ve had to load around him,’ Matron said. ‘It’s been most inconvenient.’

She’d expected a mini version of Stefan, but his son barely looked thirteen, slight, arms folded over his chest, knees and shoulders shaking. ‘Has Audrey examined him?’

‘He refuses to move!’

Where was his mother? Ellen took off her cap, hoping she would appear more friendly. As she edged closer to the wagon steps, Branislav followed. He couldn’t do any harm, he might assist.

Distracted, she glanced up at the sound of a motorcar. Three white-bearded officers jumped out. A civilian was pushed into the back seat. She concentrated again on Mitar.

She asked in Serbian, ‘Are you cold?’

When she repeated the question, he ducked his head till it touched his chest. She edged nearer, feeling the edge of the shaft against her thigh.

Branislav said, ‘Mitar, the lady asked you a question.’

She wondered if her accent was difficult to understand. Sometimes the men laughed at the way she spoke, though she tried to imitate.

Mitar raised his head to Branislav. His top lip trembled.

She sympathised. Cadets shouting, mothers murmuring, a vendor calling out his sale of matches, soldiers arguing, singing. In the distance, the motorcar drove off. She sensed Matron’s impatience behind her. Hands on hips, no doubt.

Heavy footsteps approached. Audrey cried out, distressed, ‘Matron! An emergency has arisen.’

In singsong English, Mitar said, ‘My name is Mitar Petrovic. I am thirteen years old.’

‘Have you brought warm clothes?’ Ellen said, ‘We’re going on a long journey and it will be cold.’

Audrey sounded tearful, ‘Matron! It is intolerable. The cadets are to be armed.’

Matron said gently, ‘We’re having a problem with Stefan’s son. He refuses to move from the steps of the wagon.’

‘We won’t go at all if these boys are not disarmed.

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