This could have turned into another muddy slice of life from World War I, set as it is against the “harrowed landscape” of the Front. We are also taken to a sleepy, complacent, straitlaced village near Chichester, its inhabitants ignorant of the horrors their men and boys are enduring in the trenches. The hero is Leo Ellis, a young, naïve battalion chaplain serving with the Expeditionary Force in France, escaping from an unhappy childhood shaped by a narcissistic mother…it certainly doesn’t add up to a cosy, light read and it could have developed into misery. BUT the writing is so good, the author fully in control of the nuances thrown up in her book. I liked it a lot.
Yes, it’s a book about war but not completely. It’s a coming-of-age story too. Leo eventually realises he is stronger than he thought, as the battle-weary men he is serving grow to respect him through his acts of bravery. The story also allows us a peek into a way of life one hundred years old and serves as a record of the work of battalion chaplains that we probably never considered: the way they tried to comfort dying men, record last wishes, post letters back to relatives, attempt to raise morale and offer spiritual help in an environment too horrible to contemplate.
The characters are well developed, believable. Crabtree is particularly interesting and, I feel, pivotal to understanding Leo. Once destined for a career in the Church, with his cocky, worldly ways and beautiful singing voice – Crabtree almost represents another side of Leo’s character that could or could not have developed… As the two men lie, badly wounded on the battlefield, waiting for stretcher bearers to rescue them, Crabtree talks through his pain to Leo. “You believe in God but you don’t believe in Man,” he concludes.
We all know now how futile a war this was, but later on, Ellis is warned by his senior, Loveday, to think about his duty of care as he writes letters home to bereaved relatives. “It’s one thing to lose a loved one to war, quite another to be told that loss was a waste.” These observations peppered through the book don’t weigh heavy, as they probably do extracted for a short review like mine. Phrases like “even the blinded will continue to see” and “out here everything that speaks of life should be treasured” (this, on the occasion of a football match which distracts the men for a short while) – sit naturally in Dean’s dialogue. I re-read several of these meditative phrases again and again and stopped to reflect. Dean’s style of language is old-fashioned but perfectly suited to her subject. It reminded me a little of Trollope. Although she has obviously carried out painstaking research, the narrative is not pulled out of shape and I enjoyed this book tremendously. I look forward to more by this talented writer.