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bradygirl_12Title: Sands’ Gold I: "Rally 'Round The Flag, Boys!!!" (1/1)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: William/Julia, Thomas/Margaret, John Brackenreid, George/Effie, Henry/Ruth, Llewellyn Watts, Jordan Higgins-Newsome, Bertie Higgins-Newsome
Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries
Series Notes: This series will take place during and after World War I. The entire series can be found here.
Genres: Angst, Drama, Historical
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: The beginning of the Great War in August 1914 brings excitement…and foreboding.
Date Of Completion:January 22, 2022
Date Of Posting: February 11, 2022
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Shaftesbury Films and the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation do, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 2817
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Castles crumbling,
Under pounding
From a Sea
Of Modernity,
Of an age
No longer
Meant to be,
Charm,
Grace,
Civility,
Now sleek,
Clean,
And bold,
Castles crumbling
Into sands’ gold.
Lady Elspeth Sheffield
“Farewell, Old World”
1919 C.E.
August 1914
William Murdoch had never thought much about the British Empire and what it meant for Canada. He had been born at the height of Empire in the 19th Century, and fairly well agreed that the forces of Great Britain could defeat the Triple Alliance in good time, perhaps not by Christmas but by next spring, surely.
The younger lads of Station House No. 4 had all volunteered, leaving behind a severely-understaffed house, but Inspector Brackenreid had assured everyone that they would forge ahead. Sacrifices had to be made in wartime, after all.
Privately he had asked Murdoch and Watts to stay and they had agreed. Older constables were the remaining staff, and at least experience could try and make up for youthful vitality.
“Thank you, Murdoch. Not sure if I could run the whole place myself. I mean, as the only copper in the station house,” the Inspector had said.
“Ah, yes, sir, that would be difficult.”
Julia was at his side as the fresh recruits marched to the train station. She was more ambivalent about all this, but he supposed that was typical of women. War was for men to prove themselves.
“The Inspector was delighted that John joined the station house unit,” Julia said as she threw confetti.
“He was to see his son return to be with his friends. He also likes the idea of John going to war with men who will have his back.”
The Brackenreids were only a few feet away, packed in with the excited crowd. The Inspector was cheering heartily, bursting with pride. His wife was putting on a brave face as the station house squad passed.
John Brackenreid saw his parents and smiled. He looked every inch a soldier in his new red uniform with the bright, shiny buttons. Marching right beside him was George Crabtree, and next to him was Henry Higgins. Both men were handsome in their uniforms, too, and wore excited expressions.
“Don’t they all look fine,” Julia said.
“I think so.” William concentrated on the pride and excitement, refusing to think about the battles that lay in their future.
“Give the Huns hell!” yelled a man in the crowd. The crowd cheered the sentiment and excused the vulgarity.
“Be safe, boys,” William murmured.
& & & & & &
“Where’s Watts?” Brackenreid asked.
“Out on a call, Inspector.”
The two couples went into Brackenreid’s office.
“It was a lovely parade,” Margaret said.
“Oh, it was,” Julia agreed.
“I remember a fine send-off when I went off to war in Afghanistan.” Brackenreid hung up his hat and coat. “Our boys will take care of the Huns.”
“Don’t forget that they’re allied with Austria-Hungary and Italy,” Margaret said.
Brackenreid laughed. “The Italians would rather eat their fine food and sing opera instead of fighting. Can’t say as I blame ‘em.”
“What about the Austro-Hungarians?”
“Now, that could be something, Margaret, but the Austrians love their pastries and waltzes. It’s the Hungarians you’ve got to watch out for.”
The Inspector always had a colorful turn of phrase, Murdoch thought. Did he really dismiss the Italians and Austrians so lightly, or was he trying to reassure his wife? He was a combat veteran and knew what was in store for his son and the lads he held dear. Maybe he was trying to reassure himself as well.
“You men should talk business,” Julia said brightly. “Fancy some tea?” she asked Margaret.
“Yes, let’s,” Margaret said just as brightly.
After the ladies left, Brackenreid exhaled a sigh. “Quite a day, eh, Murdoch?”
“Yes, sir.”
Brackenreid sighed again. “Short or long, the lads will see some action., I daresay.”
Murdoch frowned. “Are you expecting a long war, sir?”
“Possibly. The Germans are tough opponents, not to mention the Hungarians, who would as likely slit your throat as not.”
“So you believe the enemy in this war is formidable?”
Brackenreid poured himself a Scotch and ginger beer for Murdoch, who appreciated the Inspector keeping the non-alcoholic beverage in store for him. He took the tumbler and Braclenreid sat in his chair behind the desk. He took a sip of his drink.
“The Germans are a tough lot, Murdoch. Their discipline comes from Prussian tradition. Our boys are disciplined, but the Germans take it to a whole new level.”
“What about our allies?”
“The French and Russians? Well, the French know the Germans after the Franco-Prussian War in ‘70, and the Russians? Ragged lot, but the Russian winter can stop anyone, as Napoleon found out.”
“Yes, sir.” Murdoch’s knee suddenly ached and he rubbed it.
The Inspector noticed the gesture. “You’re not feelin’ guilty about not goin’ off with the lads, are ya?”
“A little,” Murdoch admitted.
Brackenreid shook his head. “War is for the young men, Murdoch.”
Murdoch smiled slightly. “You’ve changed your mind about that, sir.”
Brackenreid harrumphed. “That fall you took a few years ago is a smart reason not to run off to war.”
The ajar door to his office was pushed open and Detective Llewellyn Watts entered. “False alarm, sir.”
“Good.” He waved Watts to a seat. “Oh, pour yourself a Scotch.”
Watts did and took the chair next to Murdoch. “The lads get off all right?”
“Splendidly.”
“Good.” Watts took a long sip. “You were talking about Napoleon just before I came in?”
“We were, Watts.”
“Ah, the venerable Russian winter.”
“Works every time.”
Watts nodded in his contemplative way. “Do you think the Russians are worthy allies?”
“We might be at a disadvantage with our wartime partners,” Brackenreid said with a grimace.
“I assume you consider that the Germans will be formidable opponents?”
“You better believe it.”
“Hmm, yes.” Watts took another sip.
“Damned Prussians.”
“They are disciplined.”
“Quite so. Our Army is well-disciplined. The Germans are better.”
Watts hunched over. “Do you think the Americans will come in?”
“The Yanks? Talk about undisciplined!”
“They did fight a brutal civil war a few generations ago.”
“Oh, they can fight well enough when they want to.”
“Just not the British way, right, sir?” asked Murdoch.
Brackenreid chuckled. “True, Murdoch.” He lifted his glass to Murdoch. “If the Americans are smart, they'll stay out of it.”
Murdoch and Watts silently agreed with that sentiment.
& & & & & &
“Must be the overflow from the parade crowd,” Margaret said as she observed the waitresses scurrying about.
“There was a good crowd.” Julia sipped her mint tea.
“Funny how war pumps people up.” Margaret’s tone dripped acid.
“Maybe it’s a primal thing.”
“For men, maybe, but do we women really find it all that exciting?”
“Some probably do.”
“I can guarantee they don’t have sons.” Margaret sipped her tea as if she was attacking the cup.
Julia took a bite of her scone. “It can’t be easy.”
“The only good thing about Bobby being on the run from the law is he won’t be running off to war, though knowing him he’ll still find a way.”
Julia secretly agreed with her and took another bite of her scone. “John is with men who will watch his back.”
Margaret sighed. “That’s some consolation.”
“You will find that people you can count on are worth everything.”
Margaret took a big bite of her scone. “Do you think this war will be long?”
“Goodness, I hope not, because a long war is always a slog.”
“Slog is a good word for it.” Margaret’s gaze roamed over the cafe’s clientele. “Look at these women. How many of them have sons, husbands and brothers who marched to the train station today? Here they are with their children and friends, eating scones and drinking tea…like me.”
Margaret’s facade nearly cracked. Julia looked at her sympathetically.
“Yoo hoo!”
Ruth Higgins-Newsome breezed in, accompanied by her children, five-year-old Jordan and three-year-old ?, and her cousin, Effie Crabtree-Newsome. Ruth pushed the stroller over to Julia and Margaret’s table.
“Wasn’t that a lovely send-off?” Ruth asked.
“Very,” said Julia. Margaret seemed resigned to the flighty Ruth’s presence. “Pull up some chairs, ladies,” Julia invited.
The little table became crowded, but Ruth called the waitress over. Jordan wanted blueberry scones.
After the orders were taken, Jordan said, “Daddy looked so nice in his uniform with the shiny buttons.”
Julia had to admit that the military uniforms had been quite impressive. Little wonder that a child would focus on that detail. For that matter, many adults did.
Jordan looked at her mother with clear hazel eyes. “Will Daddy be home in time for my birthday?”
“Oh, no, dear, that’s a little too soon. Your birthday is next month” Ruth handed Bertie a biscuit to keep him from fussing. She had taken the cushions from his stroller to prpp him up at the table.
“The Germans are good soldiers, aren’t they?”
As always, Julia was certain that Jordan had a high intelligence quotient. She preferred to respect that intelligence instead of dismissing her pronouncements as Ruth sometimes did.
Julia looked calmly at Jordan. “Yes,they are.”
Jordan contemplated this, grateful that Julia had not sugarcoated her answer. “They have lots of weapons, don’t they?”
“Yes, all the countries do.”
“Does that mean they are evenly matched?”
Julia blinked. “Yes, I suppose that is correct.”
“Then I don’t think Daddy will be home soon.”
Julia exchanged a look with Effie. She had not thought of the even match in weapons before. Jordan could astound her on a regular basis.
I must get Ruth to have her tested.
“Now, Jordan, dear, if the weapons are equal, we must rely on the heart and skill of our soldiers,” said Ruth.
“Yes, Mama.”
“I would like some hot butter with my scones. Could you please go up to the counter and let them know?”
“Of course, Mama.”
After Jordan was out of earshot, Ruth said sweetly, “She’s a treasure, but sometimes too serious. She’s not even six years old!”
Julia smiled. “You should have her take an intelligence test.”
“Really?” Ruth looked uncertain.
“Oh, yes,” said Effie.
“Hmph.” Ruth looked contemplative.
Julia and Effie thought that was being generous, considering Ruth’s flightiness. How she and Henry had managed to create a child who might be extraordinarily intelligent was beyond them.
“Do you think it’s necessary?”
“It would be a good thing. You would know exactly just how intelligent she is.”
Ruth waved her hand dismissively. “I already know she’s smart. A little too smart for her britches sometimes. Isn’t that right, Bertie?” she cooed to her son.
Little Bertie giggled and ate another biscuit.
“Well, she is right about the even match of weaponry making it a long war,” said Julia.
“And I maintain that our boys’ skills and heart will be the difference.” Ruth stroked her son’s head. “By the time Bertie is old enough to go to war, there will be no more wars.”
“‘The War To End All Wars’, eh?” Effie said.
“That’s right.” Ruth clapped her hands. “It will be a better world.”
Julia was uncertain of that, but she agreed with the sentiment. If this war could mean the end of all wars…
“A nice hope, but how is this war supposed to end all wars?” asked Effie.
“The modern weaponry will ensure that war will become impractical.”
“Then why this war?”
“Men always have to do things the hard way.”
“Well, you’re right about that,” Effie agreed.
“Our order is coming.” Jordan said as she returned to the table.
“I should think so.” Ruth fanned herself with a lace handkerchief. The August heat was making her wilt.
Julia sympathized. The combination of heat and noise was beginning to bother her.
The waitress brought over the order and Bertie giggled. He pointed and said, “I want cream!”
“Of course, dear,” Ruth said indulgently.
Margaret had remained quiet but was obviously disgruntled. After some innocuous chitchat, she said, “Glad to see you ladies, but Julia and I have to get back to the station house.”
She rose and Julia followed her out of the cafe. Once on the street Margaret blew out a gust of air. “That woman just irritates me.” Her face was flushed with the heat and she wiped her face with a silk handkerchief.
“Oh, Ruth is all right. She’s a good mother.”
“What do you make of Jordan?”
“A highly intelligent girl.” Julia pulled on her gloves.
“Men generally don’t like smart women.”
“Oh, I don’t know, William seems all right with smart women.”
Margaret snorted. “He’s an exception.”
“Along with George?”
“George?”
“Effie is quite intelligent.”
“Doctors and lawyers, hmph. In my day we aspired to become good wives and mothers.”
Julia knew that Margaret was feeling anxious. Her old-fashioned sentiments were true to her outlook, but she could also be surprisingly progressive. Hadn’t she immediately accepted Nomi, the Inspector’s black daughter, the product of a romantic liaison before he had met Margaret? They were good friends.
“I suspect there will be much women can do in this war,” siad Julia.
“Yes, I suppose. Knitting socks, rolling bandages, collecting books to send. They say soldiers are often bored between battles.”
“Yes, quite so. And nurses will be needed.”
“At the front?” Margaret was horrified.
“Generally behind the lines.”
Margaret looked relieved.
The two women arrived at Station House No. 4 and Margaret gazed at the building with a serious expression. “Thomas was considering retirement when all this began.”
“I am sorry the war has delayed things.”
Margaret shrugged. “As Thomas says, personal plans must be put on hold.” She looked at Julia. “I suppose it was lucky that William hurt his knee.” At Julia’s confused expression, she explained, “He won’t be going overseas.”
“Oh, no,” Julia said, relief evident in her voice.
“Well, let’s go in, then.”
The two women swept inside, the station house much quieter than usual. As Margaret headed for her husband’s office, Julia paused at Detective Watts’s desk.
“Oh, hello, Dr. Ogden.”
“Hello, Detective.” Julia looked him over. “You are looking hale and hearty. No eagerness to run off to war?”
He smiled. “I’m more of a lover than a fighter.”
Julia smiled and went inside the Inspector’s office.
“So Ruth and Effie Newsome show up at the cafe with the kids,” Margaret was saying.
“Did they watch the parade?” Brackenreid asked. “We didn’t see ‘em.”
“They told us they were at the train station.”
“Ah, so a proper send-off for Crabtree and Higgins.”
Julia said, “It would seem so.” She took a seat next to Margaret on the bench in front of the office window. “The countries at war all have equal weaponry, do they not?”
“I believe so,” Murdoch said.
“Then that could mean a long war.”
“It could,” Brackenreid said, “but war is more than just weapons.”
“Spirit of the troops?”
“I would say so.”
She smiled as Margaret rolled her eyes. “Then you agree with Ruth Newsome.”
“Bloody ‘ell!”
They all laughed at the Inspector’s consternation.
“Quite a day, eh?” Brackenreid said. “Calls for some ginger beer all around.” He was mindful of his wife’s temperance sentiments as he headed to his beverage cabinet.
“Scotch!”
He froze in mid-stride. “Margaret?” he asked as he turned around.
“This day deserves Scotch,” Margaret said as everyone stared at her.
“Quite so.” Brackenreid managed to reach the cabinet. “Doctor?”
“Yes, please,” Julia said.
“I shall take one,” said Murdoch.
More stares. Brackenreid cleared his throat. “All right then. This is a notable day.” He put glasses and a good bottle of Scotch on a tray and brought it over to his desk. “Shall I be Mother?” he asked jokingly as he got ready to pour.
“Please do,” Margaret said, fanning herself with a handkerchief.
Amber-filled glasses were passed around and the Inspector offered a toast.
“To our boys on the battlefields. May they always be brave.”
“Hear, hear!” said his wife and friends.
Someone opened the station house door and a marching band went by, singing, “Rally ‘round the flag, boys!”
In the days to come the marching bands would fade and the flags become tattered and torn, but today, hope was still in the air.
The castles had not crumbled yet.
This story can also be read on AO3.
Crossposts: https://bradygirl-12.livejournal.com/1517459.html
