A pub, in a village, somewhere in Hampshire…

“WHAT?” You’re out of your mind son, listen to your elders and betters, the Harlequins will win tomorrow, no ifs or buts”, the old man said, his alcohol-reddened face swelling as he spoke.

“I’m not convinced” said the younger man, thoughtfully sipping his pint as he spoke, “Think about it, Moseley are playing at home, they have the heavier pack, and some damn slippy backs”

“So you say” the old man replied, “What’s the name of the Quin’s captain again, you know, the scrum-half?”

“Will Osborne?”

“That’s the blighter; young lad too, ain’t he?”

“Yes, he comes from round these parts, I knew his Dad, he was a schoolmaster, also played for the Harlequins. Not as good as his wee man though”

“Oh” the old man raised his eyebrows,”Whatever happened to old Osborne?”

“He died” the younger man said simply, putting his beer down, “In the war, grenade blew him to bits, he couldn’t be deader. The Harlequins have a memorial, with all the names of people from their team who died in the war, ‘e’s on it”

“Oh aye” the old man said, sighing deeply, “We’ve had it worse than most others, a lot of bad stuff happened to the people from ‘ereabouts that went to war”

“Oh?” the young man asked. He was eager to hear a story.

“Well, there was young Raleigh, he was a good soul. He died in his second battle, in that big attack at St Quentin.  He got hit in the back by a shell, then, just to make sure ‘e was really dead. A dugout fell on him. They still ain’t found ‘is body. They reckon it’s still buried in France somewhere. Think about it, ain’t that ‘orrible. ‘is family can’t even give ‘im a decent burial”

“Quite” the young man raised his eyebrows, “You mentioned others…?”

“Oh aye, young Stanhope, oh aye, there’s a story and an ‘alf, no less. He had a hard time of it, went out in 1915, after he’d left school. He saw hundreds die around ‘im. Eventually, it was all too much for him; he was diagnosed with shellshock and manic depression after the big attack. ‘e was sent back ‘ere, to hospital, ‘e didn’t miss much. The war ended the day after he arrived. But ‘e was inconsolable, ‘e kept mourning everyone. One night, ‘e just walked out of the ‘ospital and went to Raleigh and Osborne’s families. They knew what ‘ad happened; they’d ‘ad letters. But Stanhope told ‘em anyway, then he put on ‘is uniform, walked out to village green, stood at attention under the flagpole, had a whisky, then shot ‘imself”

The young man choked on his beer, “SHOT himself?”

“Aye”, the old man replied, “In the middle of the village, with his own service revolver. Made an ‘ell of a racket. Yeah, something tipped ‘im over the edge, dunno what though. There was a rumor going round that he loved young Raleigh’s sister, and she rejected him after the war. Shattered ‘is heart. Don’t put much on it meself, I think ‘e was just mad”

“Maybe, maybe” the young man mused, “What about that bloke who got the VC?”

“Hibbert?” the old man asked, smiling again, “Aye ‘e was somethin’, apparently. Old Stanhope always went on about ‘ow brave he was. ‘e was ill before the big attack, badly, could have gone home. But ‘e went up anyways. He was on the front line, guarding a machine gun pillbox. ‘is fellow officer, Potter or Horseman or somethin’ like that, got blown to bits by a shell, right in front ‘o ‘is eyes”  

“That must have been…off-putting”

“Bloody terrifying is what I’d call it. No matter, ‘ibbert stood ‘is ground, over his comrade’s body, with ‘is rifle, and shot any Hun stupid enough to have a go with ‘im dead. ‘e killed about  20. When ‘e ran out of ammo, he got out his bayonet and charged at the Huns instead. He took an box ‘o machine gun round before ‘e finally went down and stayed down”    

“Sounds like something out a film”

“Aye, a horror film maybe, but a film nevertheless”

“Anyway” the young man said, drinking down the rest of the beer, “Enough of the chitter-chatter, I vouch Moseley to win tomorrow. I’ll make you a bet, loser pays for all the drinks next week”

The old man burst out laughing, “Yer mad son! Aye, I’ll take yer bet. But, I warn ye, ye’ll have to sell off your house to pay my tab”

“We’ll see”, the young man said as he got up and put his coat on, “Anyway, I must go, the wife wants me back before 10”

“Aw! Forget her!” the old man said, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder to try and force him back down, “She ain’t even yer wife yet, you’re only farkin’ engaged”

“All the same” the young man sighed, “Cheero”

“Aye!” the old man said quietly, rather miffed at the sudden loss of company, “Cheero!”

The old man watched the younger man walked out of the door, into the bitter cold outside, he sighed; he enjoyed the young man’s company. Reminded him of his days back in the army, footloose and fancy-free, when he wasn’t getting bombed to pieces.

The barman walked up to remove the young man’s drink, “Oh”, he said as he saw the old man, “Your friend left?”

“Aye” the old man, “Ah well, not to worry”

“You’ll survive” the barman smiled slightly, “Fancy another drink Mason, on the house?”

“Aye!” Mason said, “That’ll be grand, then I’ll make a toast, to Stanhope and Osborne and Trotter and Hibbert and everyone else, God bless every single one ‘o the loonies”