World War 1 - An Unkept Promise
CROSSING THE POND
I started working on my presentation soon after I committed to the speaking engagement with the Western Front Association. My intent was practice a couple times a week in order to etch the speech into my memory. I wanted to make sure that nerves would not detract from giving a good presentation.
I was satisfied with my arrangement right up to the time I started writing query letters to publishers. They want the author to explain why his book is different than others, what makes it unique. A great deal of thought went into analyzing how to answer that question because the composition of the story is complicated making it difficult to arrive at a simple answer. During the analysis process I realized whatever the resolution was, it had to be incorporated into the opening lines of the speech.
On September 3rd we took off from Tampa on our way to New York, where we would board the flight to London. The flight would take around six hours and I used the time restructuring sentences in an attempt to describe an intangible sensory element which would separate my book from others. After countless feeble attempts I finally realized I was trying to describe a feel derived from a personal experience, like an amazing sunset – you cannot describe it, you experience it. The journal entries are like the sunset, one must read them to comprehend their power. I could say that the story is based upon a personal war journal with compelling entries. However, the word compelling invokes a different understanding in each reader.
I have had a cross section of people, from my mother-in-law to WWI historians read the manuscript and almost in every instance the reader is astounded and emotionally impacted.
While working on the changes I could not help thinking of the hours I spent practicing the speech until I could hum it in my sleep. Yet I thought the changes were too important not to include them. I was trying to come up with the right word combinations to get my point across, but each revision fell short of my intended goal. After six hours I was no further along than I was when I started.
We landed at London’s Heathrow airport at 6:30 am on September 4th and proceeded to customs. There were long lines which snaked back and forth creating visions of Disney World. We asked one of the border guards if it was always this crowed and he said that the lines were long because most international flights land in the morning.
While we waited in line I was concerned on how much time had passed since we landed. I had prearranged a cab to pick us up and according to their contract they would wait ninety minutes after your flight lands before leaving. They suggested that you call if you believe it will take longer than the allotted time. However, our cell phones were not programmed for international use so we were unable to call if we had to. The issue with an unusable phone would continue to be a problem as the week progressed.
We cleared customs, found our luggage and made contact with our driver within the 90 minute time frame. The driver told us that it would be a two hour drive to our accommodations at the ‘Think Apartments Bermondsey Street’.
It was around 9:30 when we tried to check in only to be told that we could not check in until 3. Fortunately they allowed us to store our luggage. Now we had to figure out how to occupy ourselves for roughly six hours?
We exited the building and stepped out onto a narrow sidewalk, we stood there looking up and down the road trying to make a decision. We had not slept for over twenty-four hours so we were dead on our feet. Too tired to walk around for six hours, besides, we had no idea where we were or where to go.
While I was trying to check in, Lynne snatched one of the free city maps from the apartment lobby. Examining our options we decided to walk down to the River Thames and in the process my wife, Lynne, came up with a brilliant idea, pay for a tour on one of the double deck buses. After all it was a hot sunny fall day, perfect for riding on the upper deck of the bus. The tour was both informative and restful, plus it ended at 3 pm.
THE MISSING SPEAKER
One of my favorite laws about life is known as Murphy’s Law, which states ‘If anything can go wrong, it will go wrong and at the most in opportune time!’ During the trip I proved that the law is correct. I also validated one of my own theories, which I call the ‘50/50 80/20 rule ‘If you are faced with a decision with two possible outcomes, statistically your selection stands a fifty percent chance of being the correct one. However, I have found that once the decision is made, there is an eighty percent chance that the selection was the wrong one.’ These philosophies would play out during one of the most important nights of the trip.
On the morning of the 5th I was up early trying pickup where I left off working on the speech. It may have been jet lag or writer’s block but the words were not falling into place. When my wife came into the room she could see the frustration on my face. She inquired about what was stressing me out. After being married for 35 years I knew before I answered what her response would be. When I told her, she reacted right on quote telling me that I was nuts for trying to make changes at the last minute. She got that out of her system and asked me explain what I was trying to get across. While she listened to my inept explanation, she jotted down a few notes. Within a few minutes the queen of words solved the puzzle and made the necessary changes.
Using most of her changes I rewrote the beginning of the speech and then transferred the new document to a flash drive. We left in search of a printer, which was not far from our apartment. The printer had the capability of printing from a flash drive, so within minutes I had a new speech and less money.
Since it was another hot 85 degree day in London, we went about finding a shaded park where I could practice my speech. We tried our best but luckily we did not succeed, instead we found ‘The George Inn’. There was a placard attached to one of its brick walls. It stated that the Inn was a historical site where William Shakespeare and Charles Dickens often frequented; it failed to mention if they spent their time at the Inn or the tavern.
As an aspiring author what better company could I ask for? In fact I was so inspired I ordered Lynne and me a pint of beer in their honor.
I practiced my speech while downing my pint. After consuming my ale it was time to find our way back to our apartment and get ready.
I dislike feeling rushed, so when we were dressed I had a cab pick us up and drive us to the Western Front Association’s venue. As we entered the cab there was only the slightest hint that Murphy’s Law was about to control the rest of the evening.
Forces were set in motion when the driver asked us ‘where too’, which triggered an ‘Oh shit’ moment when I remembered I left the address information in the room. However, I had my trusty laptop so all I had to do was pull up Tom’s email that contained the address. Without a WiFi connection I could not connect to the Internet. We were without both an address and Tom’s phone number. However, I did recall the name of the place ‘Barley Mow’. The diver said he never heard of the place so he looked it up on his smart phone. With his new found knowledge he entered the address into his GPS and we were off.
I started thinking ‘What if there is more than one Barley Mow?’ But what would be the odds of two places having the same odd name Barley Mow? The name was unique enough that the probability of two places with the same name would low, which fit nicely into my 50/50 – 80/20 rule.
It was rush hour in the grid lock city of London. I was grateful we left early because time was quickly passing while we were not. When it was approaching twenty minutes before the meeting, I wondered if we would make it on time. The cabbie dropped us off with ten minutes to spare. However, when I stepped out of the cab something did not feel right. There was a sign with Barley Mow printed on it, but seeing the sign did not satisfy my premonition that we were at the wrong Barley Mow.
Lynne and I went around asking strangers if they knew where the Western Front Association was having their meeting, in every case our question was answered with a blank face, no one heard of the Western Front Association.
I sat down on a curb and pulled my laptop out of my backpack. While I was frantically searching for an Internet connection, Lynne high jacked a young man as he exited a building. She told him our heart wrenching story and it must have touched him in some way. He was generous taking his time to help us. Using his smart phone he found the necessary information, verifying the fact, which we already knew, we were at the wrong place. Obviously there were two places with the same name and true to my 50/50, 80/20 rule, we selected the wrong one. He gave us the address of the correct Barley Mow and left us with one last bit of wisdom ‘use a black cab they will get you there faster.’ Using a traditional black cab comes with a benefit. They are the only cabs allowed to drive in the bus lanes, which enables them to bypass a great deal of traffic.
Murphy’s Law continued to hound me! Usually cabs everywhere, except when we needed one. With Lynne in tow, we ran down the street in hopes of finding a cab. Lynne was smart; she stopped to ask someone if they knew where we would stand the best chance of catching a cab. She was directed to a local train station, which just happened to be a few blocks away.
I was sprinting down the street towards the station looking into cabs as they passed in hopes one would be empty. When I arrived at the train station there was not a cab to be found. At this point I was getting desperate and panic stricken, a lethal combination which was drawing me towards the dark-side. Just when I was about to have a meltdown I spotted a cab. Flagging him down we jumped in and Lynne gave him the address.
Despite my efforts it was too late, the meeting was half over and the cabbie told us it would take another twenty minutes – even for the notorious black cab.
Lynne and I sat in silence, although mentally I was screaming at myself for not being better organized. Of all nights not to screw up this would have been at the top of the list. After all people were depending on me and I let them down, besides missing out on a great opportunity. I was determined to at least try to get there before everyone left so I could explain my absence.
The cabbie found the correct Barley Mow and dropped us off. I recalled Tom saying that they moved their meeting to the Scottish Armory, which according to Tom’s email; it was just across the street. But like everything else that had happened thus far, the armory was not across the street.
Again Lynne saved the day by stopping a man as he left the Barley Mow pub. She inquired if he knew where the Western Front Association meeting was being held. He admitted that he never heard of the Western Front Association and therefore had no clue where they were meeting; that is until I mentioned the Scottish Armory. He recalled passing an armory on his way to the pub and it was just down the street and around the corner.
I dashed down the street and found the armory. Bolted up the steps and tried to open the door, but it was locked. Then I notice a panel of buttons located to the right of the door. Each button was marked with someone’s name. Obviously pressing a button would alert that person to come and open the door. However, in my clouded mind I just looked at all the options, fearing that if I pushed the wrong one, the step I was standing on would drop open like a trapdoor. Luckily someone heard me and open the door.
I could tell by the look on the gentleman’s face that he was not prepared to see the disheveled man standing before him. Using my best panic voice, I asked ‘Where is the Western Front Association meeting?’ He pointed towards the set of stairs to my right while mumbling something to the affect that the meeting was over. Scampering up the stairs I located the room and I made my grand entrance while members were leaving. I quickly glanced around the room trying to locate Tom but he spotted me first, which was easy considering I was the only stranger in the room wearing sports coat and tie with perspiration running down his face.
When we greeted each other and then I apologized for missing the meeting and explained the nightmare we had experienced. Tom was gracious and offered his apology for all the trouble we went through and understood how easy it was to get lost in London. He introduced Lynne and I to a few remaining members and they invited us to join them for a drink, which I needed desperately.
The bar was just up the stairs and we joined four or five members who were already there. I struck up a conversation with one older gentleman named Charles. He was sitting next to me and during our conversation I could tell he was a World War One historian. He seemed very interested in some of my grandfather’s documents, especially the journal. He stated that most soldiers carried small pocket diaries not the larger one like my grandfather used. His statement made me wonder, why did my grandfather use the larger journal?
I wanted to find additional information about the military’s use of Army Book 152, so I posted an information request on Great War Form. From the replies I received, the book was used for about everything, including diaries.
I recalled that at the top of the journal’s first page there was a statement ‘My Diary From Notes and Well Remembered Incidences’, perhaps notes he referred to were written in a pocket diary and then transferred to the journal. Wondering why someone did something the way they did it is what makes studying history so interesting; there are so many questions without answers.
After Charles left I had a chance to talk a little more with Tom and two of his friends, Jules and Kathy. Tom was trying his best to get me to return next year to give the speech I would have given. I was not sure if we could afford it financially so I held out. Then he played his trump card ‘If you come back next spring we could take you and your wife over to France and Belgium to visit the battlefields.’ What an offer, to visit the battlefields with such knowledgeable people and they said they have the connections so it would be cost effective. The offer was something we had to seriously think about.
Since he did not close the deal on signing me up, he suggested that we meet Monday evening to firm up the plans and we agreed.
