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of tea at the kitchen table, the knock at the door, her opening it to the uniformed boy, envelope in his hand… but here he pushed the image from his mind. Lunchtime was over and the chief clerk would already be looking for him to distribute the afternoon post.
     
    Jack had never been inside the Usher Hall before – the massive ornate concert venue in the shadow of Edinburgh Castle. That Friday night it was filled to capacity with a crowd of over 4,000. Young men upon entering the doors were presented with an enlistment form and a copy of the appeal. Jack sat up on the stage with the rest of the Hearts players and a host of Edinburgh dignitaries, listening to speaker after speaker. Lords, MPs, professors – all of themurging the young, strong and fit “not to stand back from the fray”.
    A mighty cheer arose for the last speaker to approach the lectern – Lieutenant Colonel Sir George McCrae. He was in his fifties then, a distinguished looking man with greying hair and a thick moustache. Sir George had been born in poverty to a housemaid but had earned his fortune in Edinburgh as a “hatter and hosier” before being elected an MP to Westminster. He had also been a soldier with the Royal Scots.
    As the Colonel reached into his jacket for the sheet bearing his speech, someone in the audience shouted, “Well done, Sir George.”
    But he didn’t smile, just stared out over the audience and said, “This is not a night for titles. I stand before you humbly as a fellow Scot. Nothing more and nothing less. You know I don’t speak easily of crisis, but this is what confronts us…”
    He then set out in simple terms his commission from Lord Kitchener to raise the battalion and his pledge to lead it in the field.
    “I would not – I could not – ask you to serve unless I share the danger at your side,” he said. “In a moment I will walk down to Castle Street and set my name to the list of volunteers. Who will join me?”
    And with that Sir George left the stage and walked up the aisle and out the door, bound for the battalion recruitment office at the Palace Hotel. By midnight over 300 men had been added to the ranks.
    Jack made his way home after the Usher Hall emptied and when he entered the flat he saw a light still burning in the kitchen. Both his parents sat grim faced – a copy of the Evening News open on the table. Above a large group photograph read the headline:
    HEARTS ENLIST
    His mother’s eyes were red and bloodshot. Tom Jordan just looked dead tired, almost defeated.
    “I suppose you meant to tell us sometime,” he said and rose to put the kettle on the range.

8. The Silver Badge
    Ross heard the familiar toot of the car horn outside. His mother would be waiting at the front gate to collect him.
    “So what happened next?” he asked. “Did Jack go to war?”
    “Sorry,” said Pat. “I’ll finish the story another time.”
    Ross groaned and made her promise to tell him more next Saturday. Saying goodbye at the front door Pat handed him back the clean leather football boots without comment.
    ***
    Sunday evening after dinner Ross lay on the floor of the sitting room watching TV with his sisters. During the adverts he turned to his father who sat in a chair reading The Times .
    “Can you remember your grandfather?” Rossasked.
    “Which one?” Frank Anderson replied without looking up from the newspaper.
    “Pat’s dad – Jack.”
    “No. He died the same year I was born.”
    “And that was 1960?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did you know he enlisted in the army during World War I?”
    Frank sighed and lowered his newspaper. “Most men in his generation did.”
    He then peered over his reading glasses. “Have you and Granny been making more forays up in that attic?”
    “No,” said Ross.
    “Good. Glad to hear it,” he replied and sank back behind his paper.
    Ross grew bored and went upstairs to his room. He sat down at his desk and turned on the lamp. Jack Jordan gazed out as always from his spot on