16. THE OLD SOLDIER

During my ‘thirties I spent a great deal of time fishing, writing in a number of magazines, catching some very big fish and inventing many things, which I patented. Nothing I ever achieved could stand alongside this short, true story, which began one evening while I was passing by a chip-shop in Maple Cross, Hertfordshire, with the Dire Straits album filling my ears with music I love. Every time I hear ‘Romeo and Juliet’ by Mark Knoffler it gives me a sense of symbiosis, and I think of Bill and Mary! I always will.

In those days I was privileged enough to own a 3.8S white Jaguar, which was my pride and joy. It was given to me as a gift for my commitment as a fitness coach, nowadays called a Personal Trainer, to a wealthy businessman. It was a fine gesture for making him fit and able to look after himself. I also taught him self-defence!

One morning evening in autumn 1976, I had packed my car with everything I would need for a fishing trip, and my plans had been set in stone for many months. I had seen a large carp grazing in the margins in the early evening many times during past trips, and I wanted to catch it.

Before my story begins, I will continue with the end result of my trip; I caught my biggest carp ever after the event I am describing. Now, back to why this story is so dear to my heart.

As I drove from Kings Langley towards the lake I planned to fish, filled with eager anticipation for the giant leviathan I would land that trip, I passed by a ‘chippy’ and noticed a scuffle. I wasn’t quite sure what was taking place but suffice to write that it seemed an aggressive act was being played out outside the chip-shop door. I pulled into the shopping centre, jumped out of my car and rushed towards the scuffle.

There was an old man lying on the ground, bleeding from his nose and mouth, with blood trickling down his wrinkled-cheek and onto the pavement. The old man was surrounded by a gang of youngsters, the oldest no more than 16 years old, laughing and walking away from the scene with confident swaggers. They were ‘chuffed’ and the old man was certainly in shock.

My instinct was to attend to the old man but because the gang were now about 50m away and disappearing around the corner of the block of shops, I ran and grabbed the ‘coolest’ member of the gang. They didn’t expect that legged it.

“Wait there and don’t move” I shouted, and they stood stock-still. I then tended to the injured man. I assessed he was 80+ and after my first-aid he was set and ready, smiling when I offered to buy him a replacement bag of fish and chips, as his had littered the pavement in the scuffle. He bought the same supper every Friday evening for him and his wife.

I helped him to my car and asked him to wait for a few moments while I addressed the toughies! I said very little except that I wanted them to give me a ‘phone number where I could contact one of them, which they did willingly. I could actually sense a glimmer of niceness in a few faces, which there always is with young men when growing up to be seen as tough. Mick asked if I was planning to tell his parents. Of course, I said I was not! He reluctantly gave me his number.

I drove Bill Montgomery to his home, walked along the pathway to his bungalow door, about 500m from the row of shops that he had visited all his life and rang the door-bell. A beautiful woman opened the door, a similar age to Bill, and she was clearly upset until her man said that he was fine. “It’s only blood, my dear. I have seen a lot worse”!

Then, after a cup of army-tea, and a look around the living room at the many photographs, mostly of soldiers in uniform, he began to share his story.

This is what he told me.

He started by asking me to guess how old he was? Wanting to be kind and flattering after what he had been through, I suggested he was about 70. “What. That’s a kind gesture young man. I am much older than that, and I feel great. Please don’t be too harsh with the lads. They are only youngsters and meant no harm. There was a time when I could have taken them all on, one by one”!

“I was a boy of 15 in 1914 when I volunteered for the infantry, to accompany my friends to France as the Jerries’ needed a kick up the arse! I was frightened, but we all had to do our bit, didn’t we. I could never have stayed at home. My dad was in the Boer War and lost a leg, so I owed it to him, to be a man! In 1916 I was in the Somme and there was a lot of gas flying around, and shrapnel”. He lifted his trouser-leg and revealed a thin, scarred but clearly once emaciated left leg and pointed to where the shrapnel had lodged. “It used to be in my hip, but over the last few years it has drifted down to my leg, but it gives me no trouble”.

I was sucking back the tears and Mary, his loving wife, held his hand ever so softly.

“The bombs were a bloody nuisance and very loud, and I never really got my hearing back. I was blinded for some days, just like Hitler was as a young corporal in the same battle; but I never met him. I still only have limited-vision, but I can see enough to know that my Mary is still as beautiful as she ever was when I married her in 1920”. Mary laughed and squeezed his hand tightly as she smiled on his wrinkled, but rather, time-worn, lovely face.

The rest of the story becomes more and more sad, so I won’t tell it here, but the following week after I telephoned Mick, we met at the chippy and I invited him to come fishing with me. He agreed, rode his bicycle to meet me and followed me to the lake, with his gang of eight, who had assembled with him. We parked up and walked to the lakeside with Mick and his cohorts carrying some of my fishing gear to the north side of the lake where we saw an old man sitting on my fishing basket, shaking but eager to see Mick. It was Bill!

What happened next made Mick and Bill close friends until William passed away aged 101 the year Mick graduated from medical school. It took two hours for William to tell his entire life story, whilst Mick and the now peaceful and tear-jerked youngsters sat on the bankside, transfixed throughout, listening to every syllable of Bill’s story.

Mick was a regular visitor to William’s home from that day, and often took a bag of chips!

There is always good in people, both young and old, and it is times like these that life reveals a window that the young can gaze through, and the old too. Mick certainly saw the inner-being of Bill, who was once like him, a strong young man with great potential. Such a hero to Mick was William to become, and I lost contact with Mick until 1983, but always kept in touch with William.

Mary passed away aged 101a proud wife of a very great man. I was privileged to hold in my hand a card from the Queen a month after her one-hundredth birthday!

RIP. Sergeant William Thomas Edward Montgomery, MM and bar.