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Goodbye for Now: A breathtaking historical debut
M.J. Hollows
Two brothers, only one survives. As Europe is torn apart by war, two brothers fight very different battles, and both could lose everything… While George has always been the brother to rush towards the action, fast becoming a boy-soldier when war breaks out, Joe thinks differently. Refusing to fight, Joe stays behind as a conscientious objector battling against the propaganda.On the Western front, George soon discovers that war is not the great adventure he was led to believe. Surrounded by mud, blood and horror his mindset begins to shift as he questions everything he was once sure of.At home in Liverpool, Joe has his own war to win. Judged and imprisoned for his cowardice, he is determined to stand by his convictions, no matter the cost.By the end of The Great War only one brother will survive, but which?This breathtaking novel is perfect for fans of Jenny Ashcroft, Kate Furnival and Louisa Young.
About M J Hollows (#ue1b537b7-a3e0-5ee3-8813-32a1ce604295)
M J HOLLOWS was born in London in 1986, and moved to Liverpool in 2010 to lecture in Audio Engineering. With a keen interest in history, music, and science, he has told stories since he was little. Goodbye for Now is his first novel, which he started as part of his MA in Writing from Liverpool John Moores University, graduating in 2015. He is now researching towards a PhD in Creative Writing, and working on his next novel. Find out more about Michael at his website: www.michaelhollows.com (http://www.michaelhollows.com).
Goodbye for Now
M J HOLLOWS
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018
Copyright © M J Hollows 2018
M J Hollows asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © October 2018 ISBN: 9780008287962
Version: 2018-10-25
For everyone who fought and died in war,
and everyone who fought and died for peace.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u739e1c70-dba8-5d4d-a4f0-c10b7e830a98)
About M J Hollows (#u69cf9e27-c477-5653-9a02-d41d1b020bdd)
Title Page (#u53a7a406-d00d-5686-a11f-0f1a11c1ea2e)
Copyright (#u9df64990-96ae-5f44-8cfa-ab33497fde3d)
Dedication (#u6a584d96-7113-51ae-b7d8-4111e0379212)
1923 (#u24c664c0-a5f2-596a-a364-9dbdd315dec2)
1914 (#u76e06025-07b9-5848-922d-77b57bf985cb)
Chapter 1 (#u0d384cea-721b-5912-9c61-877fee3860d8)
Chapter 2 (#u2654c180-f26e-5a1c-a6c8-26bb03153e37)
Chapter 3 (#uf38195c4-4023-590a-b569-6fddea667c85)
Chapter 4 (#u14aa7131-322f-55b4-b6b8-363de1453457)
Chapter 5 (#u1b1b5869-0306-5cfe-84a7-82388e45b7df)
Chapter 6 (#ub42ff945-5b4c-57b8-9d81-56e63a6b4f99)
Chapter 7 (#u32780d3c-2f51-55bf-b3f6-0d7da6a6286f)
Chapter 8 (#ua9b2266b-37be-5f89-a572-e73f7a37e3a4)
Chapter 9 (#u0bc38466-8990-52fb-a3b1-d5cdca6f7199)
Chapter 10 (#ubd36eedc-85c0-550b-81ac-ac99981a950d)
Chapter 11 (#ua2d39b76-72dd-5928-bd7c-f6baad5a357b)
Chapter 12 (#u7e87517d-78ab-5351-94a1-8f6b0c4173b1)
Chapter 13 (#u47dc51e8-a33d-5855-ae74-0c98d418c2ff)
Chapter 14 (#u5aacae47-01bf-5313-9c9b-e8d0124592d7)
Chapter 15 (#u2d232f2c-8469-5146-be6b-b62ab8840271)
Chapter 16 (#u0a10cdfa-5cb2-5eed-bf49-c5602fd73276)
Chapter 17 (#u599b5080-400b-5fda-9f45-6f051a6d4057)
1915 (#uf0aadbf8-4558-5a43-a685-43772db80e08)
Chapter 18 (#u1c673030-770a-5e91-a32e-07e1830c76b8)
Chapter 19 (#u51c77489-9fc0-5df5-bfed-b4ef627df5b2)
Chapter 20 (#u30839f77-7d53-5228-b5aa-93f68466654e)
Chapter 21 (#ud521a049-a075-5a2f-8c6e-8944596b6c3f)
Chapter 22 (#uda309a54-ed3a-5027-8f4a-33ef346a17b7)
Chapter 23 (#u4fd61485-5335-57b3-9ac5-e60d168c4b41)
Chapter 24 (#ud215c4ae-5257-55ab-b2f9-d50e5172d046)
Chapter 25 (#u4b3d2ab3-0fc2-5fc4-b2fe-7ff8880af42d)
Chapter 26 (#uf0ec57fa-1c29-5e2f-ad9c-75ad983bb40e)
Chapter 27 (#u6248f78f-0fcc-553d-86d2-7e1f35576455)
1916 (#u279d7d78-3e44-5bac-8765-eab2e3b64222)
Chapter 28 (#ubf4b1085-25ee-5862-b1c0-2fbb61873537)
Chapter 29 (#u5e2d11e4-7c33-553d-8dad-3a46ea4a2bca)
Chapter 30 (#u09c98968-93c9-56fc-bb84-e999c35bf3f7)
Chapter 31 (#u4f32cf91-2dbf-5d86-a626-c792cad2ed74)
Chapter 32 (#uf84a3971-fb08-53de-8560-00999ff2556f)
Chapter 33 (#uda142868-0676-59cc-858e-24d4a9c4dee3)
Chapter 34 (#u3da1856f-5057-5d14-b2df-8ebd22bb97b0)
Chapter 35 (#ud1f29292-c68c-59ce-8df5-126d55757142)
1917 (#ueaf51c47-5380-54ec-a5de-ee2932681fd6)
Chapter 36 (#uc050ef40-bbd9-539b-94d6-4f9f87b9e0ac)
Chapter 37 (#u16ae411c-9396-5eb4-b62a-45e995877648)
Chapter 38 (#ufe1a458b-2894-580a-9848-f65e38174628)
Chapter 39 (#u06c4e18b-e480-5f18-9eb2-30f7cb36c329)
1923 (#u76dbb728-20c3-553d-a490-d5e41a4cdc78)
Acknowledgements (#u96f08133-7853-5cb5-a220-d2db9851b8fd)
Dear Reader (#u25f0f124-f8c2-5722-9110-689a9ccf88a8)
Dear Reader (#u47aaea6d-387d-5010-b666-48d7037dd36e)
Keep Reading … (#u398bdf06-c3b3-5f30-9c46-2983086c4ff5)
About the Publisher (#u2e69964b-2aa1-5c54-9d73-0b8a62588573)
1923 (#ue1b537b7-a3e0-5ee3-8813-32a1ce604295)
They all stood in silence, with hats and caps doffed under arms, focusing their vision on their shoes. Meanwhile the bishop droned on in his fashion, extolling the virtues of sacrifice.
He stared with them, trying not to dredge up the memories of the past. I have lived through hell, but in that I am not alone, he thought. Bile stuck in his throat and he desperately tried to swallow it away. No one noticed, or if they did they attributed it to his grief.
Everyone had suffered and sacrificed, not just the soldiers. He wondered how his brother might be now. How much he would have been changed by the war. They had both endured their own private hells, and as the dead would keep their solace, so would the living. No one would ever truly understand their plight and those that had experienced it didn’t need the others to remind them. That was what the nightmares were for.
So he stood there, in silence, with their neighbours and people from the nearby streets, waiting for the bishop to finish his sermon, for the memorial to be revealed.
Somewhere in the distance a baby cried. No one reacted, empathising with the child, who was probably too young to know what was going on but was joining in nonetheless.
The bishop stopped and was replaced by a Major young enough to have been a junior Lieutenant at the outbreak of war. His voice broke as he began reading out the names of the lost, Morgan, Norris, Oliver, the endless torrent of the dead. They were just names now. Their legacy, the brass plaque that was being unveiled.
He patted his coat pocket, remembering the bundle of letters that he kept there. That’s where they would stay, sealed, but not forgotten.
The Major continued reading out the names of the fallen, some of whom he knew, others he had never met.
When he could bear to think of him, he had spent most of the war angry with his brother. Not angry, that wasn’t strictly the right emotion. They had never really understood each other. They were very different people, with different stories. He had had high hopes for his brother, they all had, yet he threw it all away. He chose his path. When he should have turned to his family he turned away. It was hard now to remember him as they were when they were children. Too much had happened. His name had not been spoken aloud since. They all missed him, but it was too painful a memory.
The Major had finished now and had disappeared. There was a cough from someone amongst the crowd. The only sound apart from that was the occasional sniffle of a nose or the sound of stifled weeping. Heads were still bowed and would remain that way for some time, some years perhaps.
At first he hadn’t understood his brother’s decision; they stood on opposite sides. But as the war dragged on and on, past its first Christmas and into a new year, year after year, he had started to understand his brother a lot more. He begun to understand the need to fight for something, to believe in something and to not give up. No matter what life would throw at you. That was a sentiment he could agree on, and he guessed it was something their father had managed to instil in them both, despite their differing opinions. It had been a clear dividing line at first, but things were less clear now. The world had changed for all of them. The horror of the war had left no family unaffected. They couldn’t change their decisions, but they could make sure that they counted for something. That things hadn’t just changed for the worse but would be allowed to change for the better too.
He just wished his brother was still around to say this to, but he would never have the chance now. Their paths drifted apart, on what was to be a fateful day for millions of people…
1914 (#ue1b537b7-a3e0-5ee3-8813-32a1ce604295)
Chapter 1 (#ue1b537b7-a3e0-5ee3-8813-32a1ce604295)
‘It’s war!’
George Abbott would never forget where he was that day, when those very words were spoken. He was sat at the family kitchen table, a roughly cut dark wooden frame, with an off-white cloth draped across it to hide its wear and tear. He leaned over a bowl of oats, playing them around with his tarnished spoon. Beside it was an enamel plate with some bread and milk.
His sisters, Catherine and Elisabeth, sat either side of him. Catherine was looking over at George to see if he would eat his bread, or if she could take it. Her hair was a deep black mess of curls, the same as their mother’s, framing a pale, chubby face, whereas little Elisabeth’s hair was a distinct copper colour, more like their father’s. At the other end of the table, across the other side was George’s brother Joe, gaunt and long like their father, although with a growth of unkempt curly black hair. He wore the deep brown suit that he always wore to work, even at the breakfast table. He was careful not to get any food on it.
The back door had burst open and their father limped in clutching the Daily Post to his chest and calling to the family. If George were to look him in the eye, it would be like looking in a mirror, except his father was older and thinner. Their faces were exactly alike and the resemblance was uncanny. It was only his father’s eyes that looked different, like they had seen a thousand things, and crow’s feet pulled at the edge of his face.
‘It’s war!’ he said. ‘We’ve declared war.’ He carried on as if unheard. ‘Britain has declared war on Germany.’
Everyone stared, not knowing quite what to say. War had been brewing for some time, so they weren’t surprised.
‘Pass your father the kedgeree,’ their mother said to Catherine and she did as bid, passing the dish of flaked fish and rice that everyone but their father despised. He must have picked up his taste for it in India.
‘I thought we were allies with Germany?’ Their mother was ever the practical woman. She carried on eating while the rest of the family grew excited and agitated. George pushed his plate of bread towards Catherine to distract her, but she just stared at it, then at him.
Their father finally found his seat, hanging his cheap coat behind him as he wrestled his body onto the chair.
