he train ride to Norfolk was a pleasant distraction for me. A journey on which I could relax and allow my mind the pleasure of unfettered freedom from the drudgery of business matters and those of managing my father's estate. Since the end of the war, I had been shackled in obligatory servitude to the family business, that being the business of being the family.

I know that sounds odd, but my family is one of the "old ones," a dynasty of inherited privilege and sloth. A cornerstone of the hierarchical society that is the British aristocracy. My father, the current incumbent in the seat of power that is the Earldom of Fordingham, is an elderly man and it has befallen to me, since leaving the army, to take on the mantle as heir apparent to the title.

I suppose that by joining the army at the outbreak of war, I was showing my rebellious streak. My father tried to stop me, but even he could not pull enough strings to get my commission changed from a front line regiment to an altogether safer job in the Ministry. I sometimes wish, especially in the dead of night, when the horrors that I experienced in France come out to haunt me without distraction of the day, that he had.

I was not alone in my suffering. There were hundreds of thousands who came back damaged, not just physically, but mentally, from the vision of hell that we experienced over there. I was lucky. I came back intact physically and with only minor damage to my mind. I can cope with it. It is what my family is famous for, being able to cope in the face of adversity.

But now, on my way to stay with Aubrey at his place in Norfolk, I was able to allow my mind free reign for a short while to enjoy the beauty of the English countryside, all be it as it flashes by me on either side of the train carriage.

Aubrey was not as lucky as I. He had been badly injured to the point of loosing a leg. But he came home alive and still able to function as a human being, which is a lot more than can be said for those poor souls whose last resting place is at the bottom of a filth infested shell hole somewhere in the middle of a field in France. We came through. We survived. We are the lucky ones, or so I am told.

My train arrived at the country station and I disembarked onto the platform. A porter unloaded my small trunk for me and kindly took it to the main building on a trolley. I followed on behind him and then we came to the station entrance. The ticket collector took my ticket and smiled at me. He asked the usual questions in the polite, but truly disinterested manner of all public functionaries. Was I on holiday? Was someone collecting me? Could he call me a taxi? It was what I had come to expect, and my responses were equally as banal as his questions.

When I told him that I was being collected, and that I was staying with Aubrey, his face changed slightly. There was a momentary clouding over of his features. It seemed as if Aubrey's name had struck a chord with him and it had not been a harmonious one. But being the professional that he was, his smile soon returned and he was wishing me a pleasant stay.

I stood outside the station waiting for my car. Aubrey had said that his driver would collect me. I found this strange, not that Aubrey had a driver, well, yes I suppose that was the strange thing now I come to think of it. Aubrey was not a wealthy man. His father had lost most of his money because of the war. He had left a small amount in trust for Aubrey and his brother, but the rest had vanished, as insubstantial as smoke in the wind. How on earth could Aubrey afford staff? Even the family pile had been sold off to help pay death duties when the old man had passed on. Aubrey now lived in a very small place in the grounds of the old family home, and he lived a modest life on his limited income.

I was still wondering about this, when a car drew into the station parking area. It was an old Austin, a little beat up, but still serviceable. As it was the only car there, I assumed it must have come for me. I waved my hand to indicate to the driver that I was his passenger, and the car drew up close to me.

The driver's door opened, and a man got out. I looked on in total amazement.

It was Purvis, Aubrey's Bat Man from our army days. He saw me and gave a wide grin of recognition.

"Well, well well, if ain't Captain Fordingham. I don't think I seen you since we came back from France on that troop ship. How are you Sir?" he said, now gripping my hand in a warm handshake.

"Good lord, Purvis? Is it really you? I didn't know you were working for Aubrey. He never said anything the sly fox. How long has it been now? Must be six years. My but you look well." I looked Purvis up and down. He had been Aubrey's Bat Man. That is to say his personal valet and assistant when we were in the army. It was a perk of the officer class to have such staff. When we got our orders for the front, Purvis had come with us, not as a Bat Man, but as an ordinary private foot soldier. He, along with the rest of us, then went through hell and came back.

This was typical though. I knew several chaps who had hired former soldiers they had served with as staff once they got back home again. I suppose it was a matter of knowing that you had been through so much together, that you could trust that person. I just wondered why Aubrey had never mentioned Purvis before in his letters.

Purvis loaded the trunk into the back of the car and we set off for Aubrey's place. We chatted a fair bit on the drive there. There was so much to tell. Even though we were of different backgrounds, me an officer and Purvis a private soldier, we still had a great deal of respect for each other. Purvis insisted on calling me sir all the time. I told him that we were not in the army anymore and that he need not use the nomenclature. If he insisted on formality, then Mr. George was fine. It was what all the other staff at my father's place called me. But no, Purvis was determined to maintain his professional standards and he insisted on sir. Who was I to say otherwise?

When we arrived, I was a little taken aback at Aubrey's home. I had visited him once or twice, when were at university together. That was when his father still had his fortune and they lived in the main house. Now my friend was reduced to living in a small estate workers cottage in the grounds. It was big enough for two or three people, but that was enough. Anymore would have been a crowd.

Purvis unloaded my trunk and took it inside. I stood and looked at the house from the outside. As I looked up, I saw a face at a window suddenly vanish behind a curtain. It must have been Aubrey, as he had not come out to greet me. I wondered if everything was alright?

Purvis returned and showed me inside, taking my hat and coat. He led me through to what he called the Reception Room. He said it without the faintest hint of sarcasm in his voice. The room was small and crowded with furniture. I recognised some pieces. I am no expert, but most people can recognise Georgian antiques when they see them. The room was a hotch potch of different styles and periods of furniture, all mixed together in this one tiny space. I assumed that Aubrey must have managed to retrieve most of this before he had to sell the house. It seemed incongruous to have these works of art here in this rustic setting, but I suppose it was all Aubrey had left to remind him of better days.

I did not hear Aubrey come in. The first I knew of his presence was when he used his walking stick to close the door to the room.

I turned suddenly at the unexpected sound and there stood my oldest friend, Aubrey Carlisle, cripple.

"Aubrey old man. How the devil are you?" I said, as I moved forward and caught him in a warm embrace. I felt him move slightly as he adjusted the weight onto his remaining leg. One hand was holding the stick, the other he put around my shoulder and pulled me closer to him.

"Oh, you know. It only takes me half as much booze to get legless these days." I laughed a false, half-hearted laugh at his feeble joke. Aubrey had never really mastered wit. His humour was almost sledgehammer-like in its delivery and many people found it offensive. But I was used to it. We broke from our embrace and we stood looking at each other for a moment.

Since coming back from France at the end of the war six years earlier, I had only seen Aubrey four times. Twice when he was in hospital in London, recovering from the amputation and the other times when he had visited me. This was my first visit to his new home. We were old friends, but there was a degree of discomfort in our meeting here. For my part, it was seeing my friend in reduced circumstances like this and for Aubrey, I feel it was the same. He felt embarrassed to have me see him like this. Not so much down on his luck, but certainly not on the same social standing he had been before the war.

He motioned me to sit in a chair and he opened the door again and called Purvis to fetch some drinks. He seated himself opposite me, his good leg bent at a comfortable angle, his prosthetic limb stretched straight out in front of him, pointing at me in an almost accusing manner.

He placed his stick on the floor beside him and sat back in the large comfortable armchair.

The door opened and Purvis came in carrying a tray. On it were two glasses of scotch. He handed one to me and turned to give Aubrey his.

I did not see what happened next, but Purvis went sprawling on the floor, the tray clattering loudly against the stone hearth of the fireplace. The glass that had been on the tray smashed as it hit the stone work, scotch splashing into the open fire, making the flames momentarily flare up. I jumped slightly at the sudden noise. It was one of the many little peculiarities that I had picked up after the war. Cars backfiring had me sprawling on the pavement for the first year back. Any sudden loud noise made me jumpy still. The crashing tray had startled me, that was all.

Aubrey was cursing Purvis like an Irish navigator now. The language was that of the trenches and it turned the air blue, as it was so out of place in this safe warm room in Norfolk.

"Steady on old boy. He only dropped a tray after all. It's not the end of the world." Aubrey looked at me with a face expressing total fury.

"He's a bloody clumsy oaf. He does this all the bloody time, I have precious few glasses left as it is, without this moron breaking them all. Get out Purvis, clear this mess up later. Go on now, go." He shooed Purvis out of the room and then got up and went to a table near the window. He poured himself a sherry and came and sat down again.

We did not dine, as I had eaten on the train coming up from London, but we talked. We talked for hours it seemed when Purvis put his head around the door. He asked Aubrey if it was alright for him to turn in, as he had a busy day the next day. Aubrey exploded again into a fit of anger and swearing.

"When we have gone to bed, you can clear this bloody mess up that you made. Now, fetch that bottle of scotch and another glass, then find yourself something to do in the kitchen until later. I don't employ you to take bloody early nights at my expense." He dismissed Purvis again and turned his attention back to me, his guest. As soon as Purvis had left the room, he was back to his normal self again. I wondered at the outbursts of rage at his servant. It was so out of character for Aubrey to be like this, but I suppose the war and his terrible injury had left its mark in more than just the physical sense. Purvis came back with the bottle of malt and left it on the table and silently left the room.

It was at least three in the morning and one empty bottle of 16 year old single malt later that we decided it was time to get some shut eye. I got up, somewhat unsteadily I might add, and went to help Aubrey out of his chair, as he too was feeling little pain. He giggled like a schoolgirl as I tried, without much success, to pull him up right by the arm. He fell back into the chair laughing like a loon at our antics. I decided I needed some help here, so I called for Purvis to come and assist me.

He came into the room and without saying a word, he lifted Aubrey up from the chair, and carried him carefully over his shoulder. Aubrey was laughing fit to bust now. I saw the practised ease with which Purvis lifted Aubrey and realised that he must have done this for his master on more than one occasion. Aubrey was speaking but it was difficult to hear what he was saying from behind Purvis.

Purvis turned to carry him out of the room and upstairs to his bedroom. Aubrey was still talking.

"Good old Purvis, what would I do without him. He knows how to look after me. Only one who does, or will for that matter. I really should treat him better than I do, but we deserve each other really," he said, in his drunken slur. Purvis carried him upstairs and I followed. He pointed to a door and told me that was my room. The bathroom was across the landing from me. He opened another door and took Aubrey in and closed it behind him before I had a chance to offer to help get him into bed.

I waited for a moment before retiring. I listened, but all I could hear was Aubrey laughing again. I went to my room and began to get ready for bed. Purvis had unpacked my trunk for me and my pyjamas were laid out on the bed ready. Good old Purvis.

I undressed and was about to get into bed when I heard a strange noise. It sounded like someone crying. It was coming from Aubrey's room and so I pressed me ear to the wall.

I could definitely hear crying now. It was Aubrey, crying like a baby. I heard something else too. I heard the voice of Purvis comforting him.

The next morning I came down to find that Aubrey was still in bed. Purvis had laid the table for breakfast. It was not what I was used to, but I was a guest and so I would accept what my host could offer with good grace.

As I ate, Purvis busied himself with sundry tasks. Eventually, I could restrain myself no longer. I had to ask.

I invited Purvis to sit down, which he did with some reluctance. I poured tea for him and he looked uncomfortable with me acting as servant in his place.

"What was all that about last night?" I asked. I thought it best to come straight to the point. Purvis misunderstood me. He thought I was referring to the incident with the broken glass. He started to explain that he had tripped on Aubrey's walking stick and had dropped the tray. He said he was always doing things like that, tripping over things and getting in the way of people. I stopped his diatribe of excuses and asked again, this time being more specific. I asked about the crying.

He did not look up to meet my gaze, but kept his eyes averted from mine. He was obviously embarrassed that I had heard it all.

I tried a more gentle approach, but still he refused to be drawn, saying only that it was just Aubrey getting a little maudlin after drinking too much.

I could understand that. I, too, got a little depressed from time to time. It was only natural after all we had been through; but with Aubrey loosing his leg and all, it must bring it all home with unfiltered clarity when viewed through the bottom of a glass.

Aubrey arose late. I had occupied myself with a walk in the grounds. The current owner of the house had no objection to Aubrey using the grounds as his own. He even allowed him to use the horses in his stable. Although Aubrey did not ride any more, he often encouraged his guests to benefit from the new man's generosity. I had checked with Purvis and he had arranged a mount for me later that day.

I came back in to find Aubrey giving Purvis merry hell.

"Why did you let me sleep so late when I have a guest? I have told you before, do not let me sleep in beyond nine unless I tell you otherwise. God, you are the most hopeless case I have ever come across. Now get me some breakfast, though maybe you should make it lunch now. Go on you fool, get to it." Aubrey stopped suddenly as he became aware that I was standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Would you believe it, George? You come to see me for the first time in an age and this cretin lets me sleep in." He looked at Purvis with almost malevolent hate in his eyes. Purvis simply continued to go about his business with his head hung low in shame at his error.

I was beginning to see a pattern emerging here and it was not one I liked very much. Purvis seemed to be taking the brunt of Aubrey's anger and frustration at his disability. I could understand Aubrey being bitter about things, god alone knows he had good reason to be, but for him to use Purvis as his whipping boy, I felt was just not on. After all, if it had not been for Purvis, then Aubrey would be one of the many still in France, dead and decaying in the bottom of a filled-in shell crater.

Aubrey had been my subaltern in France during the war. He was junior to me in many ways, not just by dint of the fact that I was older than he. I was his Captain and immediate superior in the army. He was in charge of a section of the trench and the men in it. I was in overall command of the trench.

I will never forget the day the order came through. We were to issue extra ammunition to the men. This was a sure sign that we were about to make an advance on the German lines. Going over the top we called it. I gave the order and Aubrey came to see me in a matter of minutes of receiving it. He was a jittery mess. His nerves were jangling like keys on a chain, it was obvious he was not happy about things and he wanted to know exactly what the order was a precursor to. I tried to calm him by telling him that I had no further orders at the moment; and that he should not worry too much about it. It was not exactly a lie, as I really did not have any further orders to give, but any fool could see what it was leading up to.

He ranted for a while about the stupidity of advancing from our position. We had seen all too many advances from here. Advances that were short lived as the men were cut down like new mown hay by German machine gun fire. We all dreaded the day when it would be our turn to go over the top and now it seemed that day was getting closer.

I sent Aubrey on his way with a stern warning to get control of himself. If he fell apart, then the effect on his men would be devastating. Morale would plummet and panic would set in. We did not need that right now, or ever, for that matter. It was up to Aubrey to lead his men. That was what being an officer was all about. To lead and to encourage when needed.

Aubrey had not been gone an hour when a messenger came to the trench seeking me out. He handed me an envelope. I took it and turned it over, looking at the crest on the back. It was from headquarters and was stamped secret in red right across it.

With nervous fumbling fingers I opened it. The messenger stood waiting patiently for my reply, as was standard with all secret communications. I opened the page and read the simple instructions.

We were to make a full frontal attack on the German lines at ten the next morning under cover of artillery fire; they would fire a barrage of live shells and then smoke shells to mask our attack. This was a waste of time, because as soon as the Germans saw the smoke, they knew we were going to attack, and so they opened up with all they had, even if they could not see us. They were sure to hit us, all they had to do was aim in front of them. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

I thanked the messenger and scribbled a reply that the message was understood and would be carried out as instructed. He took it and left the trench for the safety of HQ.

I called all of the subalterns together and gave them a briefing on the orders. They left and went back to their men to give them the good news. All except Aubrey.

He remained and waited until the others had gone before speaking.

He wanted to know if there was anyway he could get out of it. He was direct in his approach. He simply said he did not want to go over the top and could I help him get out of it, give him some excuse or another, medical or otherwise. Just something that would save him from having to fight.

My anger when it came was more excessive in its vehemence than all of the German army put together.

I did not shout at him, my rage was now by far on the other side by this point, and I was in the calm that follows anger. I looked at Aubrey and my mind went back to our days at university. He had never been one to take risks even then. When we got together to perform some stupid student prank or another, Aubrey always wanted to be involved, but he never had the courage to carry it through.

I told him that I would pretend I had not heard his cowardly plea to be released from duty. I told him that he was an officer, and as such his place was with his men. When they had to face such a danger, then he too had a moral obligation to face it with them. I sent him back to his section to brief his men.

The next morning, I toured the trench and tried as best I could to bolster moral. I talked with the men and listened to their fears and worries. I could not offer them advice. Many were mere boys, seventeen or eighteen years old and I was a mere twenty three, but I was supposed to be the wise one. The one in charge.

Many asked me for assurances that it would be alright, that they would come through it alive. It is incredible how easily the lies came to me. Yes, I told them, they would be fine, just keep their heads down and remember their training.

At nine thirty I gave the order to prepare for the advance. Trench ladders were put in place for the men to climb out on and bayonets were fixed to riffles, in case they should they get close enough to the German lines for hand to hand combat.

Weapons and equipment were given one last check and at ten on the dot the shells stopped falling. Six smoke shells were then fired and I blew my whistle to begin the attack.

Five hundred men climbed out of that trench and ran, firing weapons and shouting whatever it was they felt gave them the most courage. For some it was the name of a loved one, for others, the name of a favourite football team back home. Anything to release the pent-up fear and tension that the waiting had brought on.

The German guns began to fire and our men went down like flies.

I do not really remember much more of the battle from then on in. It all seemed to go in slow motion. I do remember seeing one of my sergeants, lying flat on the ground giving covering fire to his section. There was nothing to hide behind in this mud filled wasteland, so he was using the corpse of one of his men as protection. The lad was dead, so what would it matter to him that he was hit by a few more bullets.

It all came to a shambolic end when we lost over three hundred men. It was obvious that we were not going to get with a hundred yards of the German trenches, so I ordered a retreat.

Back at our own lines, I saw what remained of my men. Those same men who had asked me if it would be alright. If they would get out of this alive. They had survived, but they gave me an accusing look for all those who had not come back. All those whom I had promised it would be alright if they kept their heads down and remembered their training.

Once we had dealt with the many wounded, I went in search of Aubrey. I found Purvis and asked him where Aubrey was.

"He was injured sir. Shot five times in the leg. They took him off to hospital a while ago. They said he will probably loose it, but he will live." Purvis gave me the same look as all the others I had lied to, but in his eyes I saw something more.

I later found out that it had been Purvis who had found Aubrey, wounded in at the bottom of a shell hole. He had managed to patch up his leg as best he could and then he had dragged Aubrey, while still under enemy fire, back to our lines. He had saved Aubrey's life without thought to his own. This was the act of a truly brave man.

I put Purvis forward for a medal for his bravery. It was my recommendation that he be awarded the Victoria Cross, but that was put paid to by the top brass.

They said it was not fitting for common soldiers to receive such awards for valour. There were lesser awards that soldiers might be put forward for, but not the VC. It was felt that it would devalue it if it were given out to ordinary soldiers like Purvis too easily. After all, he was only doing his duty.

I was disgusted, but I had no choice but accept it. Purvis was awarded the Military Medal instead. A lesser award, but still a recognition of his gallantry all the same.

So, Purvis was now in service with Aubrey and he was taking the flack for Aubrey's bitterness at the world. The very man who had saved his life was the one who weathered the storms of Aubrey's mood swings. I could not understand it. But then again, Purvis is an exceptional individual.

I decided not to make a big issue of things with Aubrey. I was his guest after all and it was not really my place to criticise how he managed his staff. But I had decided I would try and talk to him about it later. I felt I owed Purvis that much.

We had a light lunch and Aubrey's mood seemed to lift somewhat. Even Purvis failed to elicit an outburst when he dropped a plate. Aubrey asked me what my plans were. I told him how Purvis had arranged a mount for me to go riding later that day. He seemed pleased that I was going to be out and about for a while. He did not seem at all bothered that he would be unable to join me on my ride. This was just the sort of thing I would have expected to make him feel useless and to bring on another bout of temper, but he genuinely seemed pleased about it.

I went to the stables at the main house and introduced myself. I was given a fine stallion to ride and I spent a very enjoyable afternoon riding in the grounds and out on the roads. Returning the horse earlier than I had expected, I then made my way back to Aubrey's.

I came in through the back door and went straight to the so-called reception room. I had expected to find Aubrey there, reading or at least relaxing a bit, but he was not there. I went up to my room with the intention of taking a bath before dinner when I heard voices from Aubrey's room. The door was not closed and so I moved closer to listen at the gap.

I could hear Purvis speaking and Aubrey as well. It was not the usual arguing or crying that I had heard the night before, but normal voices holding a normal conversation. I pushed the door open, not thinking that I would be intruding. What I saw made freeze to the spot.

Aubrey was sat on the bed and Purvis was standing beside him. Aubrey had one sleeve rolled up and it appeared that Purvis was administering an injection. I knew that Aubrey had needed medication when he came out of hospital, but I was sure that he had to go to the doctor to receive it. They both turned and looked at me, guilt written wide across both their faces.

Aubrey screamed at me to get out of his room. I turned and went back downstairs and into the kitchen. What on earth was going on? I could only imagine one thing, but it could not be so. Aubrey was not a drug addict, or was he?

Very soon Aubrey came downstairs as well and found me in the kitchen. He took a seat at the table and put his elbows on it and placed his head in his hands.

"Sorry George, I didn't mean to yell at you like that. You took me by surprise, that's all. I was not expecting you back for while yet." He kept his head in his hands and did not look up.

"That was obvious," I replied, at a loss for what else to say.

"It's not how you think, George. I promise," he said.

"Then how is it my friend? At least do me the courtesy of explaining yourself." I was becoming angry again. The same way I had been all those years ago in the trench when faced with Aubrey's cowardice.

"When I was taken to hospital after the advance, they pumped me full of morphine to kill the pain. Can you imagine how much pain I was in George?" he asked.

"They kept me out of things while they waited for a surgeon to take my leg off. Then, when it was all done with, I was kept on morphine for months. You cannot imagine the pain of an amputation George. They fed me the stuff day and night to keep me silent. Then after months of taking it, they discharged me, not only from the hospital, but from the army as well.

I was sent off to recuperate in the country. They gave me morphine there too. All I had to do was ask for it and they gave it to me without question. Once that was all over they sent me home. Home to nothing. No house, no income, no prospects and worst of all, none of the one thing I needed more than anything else. Morphine. You see George, I had become an addict."

I sat silently as I listened to Aubrey explain his addiction and what it had done to him. He had seen doctors who had turned their backs on him. They did not understand his addiction and thought it self-induced. They had no idea of what he had been through and how he had come to be in the mess he was in. Eventually, he had no

choice but to buy drugs to satisfy his cravings. He bought them from a man he had met at his club in London. He supplied Aubrey with high-grade heroin weekly by post. Aubrey sent Purvis to London once a month by train to pay the man.

That was what I had walked in on. Aubrey taking his shot of heroin, the only thing that kept him going these days. Unfortunately, by his own confession, he was too much of a coward to inject himself and so he had talked Purvis into giving it to him.

I cannot say that the rest of the weekend was a pleasant one for either of us. Now I knew what Aubrey was doing, I felt obliged, as his friend to help him get out of the cycle he had fallen into, but he would have none of it. He said it was the only pleasure he had anymore, that and drinking. The injuries he received had taken away, as he put it, a certain part of his drive and manhood. He was therefore unable to perform sexually and so he had no relationships with women. He was less than half a man, or so he felt.

On Monday morning my trunk was packed and Purvis put it in the car. He waited outside while Aubrey and I said our farewells. I think we both knew that this would probably be the last time we saw each other ever again. Not for the fact of Aubrey's addiction, but because we both knew we were different people now and that we could not regain what we once had as friends.

We embraced one last time and Aubrey stood in the doorway of his little cottage and watched me depart as Purvis drove me back to the station in the old Austin.

All the way to the station Purvis remained silent. I rode in the back of the car as he had insisted I should. He said it would not do for me to ride in the front with the chauffeur.

We arrived in plenty of time for my train back to London. Purvis put my trunk on the platform for me and came back to the car.

We shook hands and he was about to get in and go, when I leaned through the window on the passenger's side and said, "I really do admire you Purvis, you know that."

He seemed bemused. "Why sir?" he asked, his honest face showing that he really did not understand my admiration.

"Well, for sticking by Aubrey like you do. There are not many men who would tolerate such treatment from their boss. But you take it all and never complain. You are true and loyal friend to Mr. Carlisle and I commend you for it."

I had not expected what happened next, and the memory will stay with me for the rest of my life. He suddenly burst into tears.

"I ain't no friend to him sir. No friend at all. Not me." He sobbed louder and his head fell forwards onto the steering wheel. I was shocked at this outburst and so I got back in the car and sat beside Purvis.

"What is all this about?" I asked him. "Aubrey has no one else but you. You look after him so well, I mean what with the injections and everything. There are not many who would be so kind to him." Purvis had stopped crying now, but he still looked miserable.

"You don't understand sir. He hates me. Its all my fault that he is like he is now, all my fault," he wailed.

"No, Purvis, you have got it wrong. Aubrey owes you everything. He owes you his life, man. Why should he hate you for that gift?" I was perplexed at Purvis' show of emotion. He seemed so stable.

"No sir, please, I have to tell someone or else I am going to go mad. I must tell you the truth about what happened in France." He was crying gently again and I felt I could not let him down in his hour of need. He just wanted to get things off of his chest. He had been carrying the baggage of all the terrors he had witnessed and he needed a confidant to unload them onto. I felt it was the least I could do for him, for the ones I had lied to and sent to their deaths, believing it would all be alright.

"You see sir, the day of the attack, the Lieutenant told me he was afraid of going over the top. He said he was going to ask you to help him get out of it. He went to you, but when he came back, he was worse than before.

When we went over, I tried to stay close to him sir, to help him should his courage fail him. But we got lost in the smoke.

Then when you called the retreat, I was on my way back to our trench, when I fell into a shell hole. Mr. Carlisle was at the bottom, all hunched up like a frightened child. I went to him to see if he was alright. That was when I noticed he was bleeding from his foot sir.

I took his boot off and I saw right away what had happened. He had given himself a blighty wound sir."

Blighty wounds were not uncommon amongst the men. They believed that a simple wound, like a shot to the foot would get them sent home, back to blighty. The trouble was, it had been done before and the top brass knew all about it. Anyone who inflicted such a wound on themselves, was without fail, Court Martialed and then shot as a coward. I sat in stunned silence at this revelation. Purvis continued.

"I saw it at once sir. I knew what he had done and I knew what would happen when we got back to the trench. He would get shot for being a coward sir. I had to do something." Purvis stopped and drew a deep breath and steadied himself.

"I didn't know what to do sir. Then it came to me. If his injury was worse, then they might think he had been really hit by the Germans. That's when I did it.

I shot him four more times in the leg sir, and then brought him back to our side."

Purvis sat and stared out of the car window, not wanting to look at me for fear of what he might see on my face. What he would have seen would have been deep admiration for this man. This simple man, whose devotion to his former employer and master turned officer was beyond that which any man could reasonably be expected to have.

"They gave me a medal, sir. Said I was a hero for saving him, sir. I ain' t no hero, sir. It was me what made him what he is today, sir. A cripple. It 's all my fault, and now I have to live with what I did and I try and make up for it by looking after Mr. Aubrey."

On my train ride back to London, I sat looking at the English countryside rushing past the carriage window. I reflected on how beautiful England is this time of year.

I thought hard about Aubrey, but more so about Purvis. It struck me that I did not even know his first name. I had only ever known him as Purvis. It made me feel ashamed that I had never taken the trouble to find out.

When I got back to my father's estate, I went immediately to my room and took out my medals.

I placed them with care in a box and wrote a letter to go with them. I called my father's butler to my room and gave him instructions on what to do with them.