The soldier’s hats were fezzes, so they weren’t from Afghanistan. They were from Egypt or Sudan, from the wars Britain had fought there in the 1880s. I took one of them to the local library and searched the section on British military history, checking all the uniforms.

The other soldier, the one that might have been from the Napoleonic Wars, remained a mystery. His uniform wasn’t British – that was clear from the books in the library, but they didn’t offer much on countries other than Britain. He stayed on my desk, still chipped until I could one day work out his uniform, his tiny dark eyes staring at me across my homework. I’d pick him up sometimes and think of George, his collected curiosities dispersed. I hoped they were at least with people who cared enough about them to be curious. The George III half-guinea was in my desk drawer. The receivers hadn’t been told about that, either.

In early March, when the hard edge of winter was starting to dull, a postcard arrived.

My Dear Boy,

What a wonderful Christmas dinner we had. ‘Always go out on a high,’ they say, and so I am gone from Teddington. I have been unwell, but am now convalescing. My new digs runs a small vocal ensemble, and all of a sudden I appear to be in charge! I have them working on a few numbers from Mack and Mabel. Who knows? It might not be an Empire, but a small church hall in the Cotswolds? Fare well my dear young Australian fish-out-of-water. Press on!

George L

‘Press on,’ I said to the soldier on my desk. ‘Press on.’

1928

Washington, DC

Many are the tales of the terrible war that finished one decade ago. The involvement of the United States has been well documented, though there are stories yet to be told. One of these involves a certain former senator from the state of Maine, the Honourable Talbot Baker. Senator Baker has not been at liberty to speak of his activities until now, and is still bound by some limitations. To the extent he is able, he agreed to share his tale with Witnesses to History on a visit to Washington, DC.

Thank you, Mister Purbrick. The story of how I come to be in Washington this week is not one the listener shall anticipate, and all the more worth telling for all that. I am here once again, not more than five minutes by taxicab from the Senate seat I used to occupy for Maine, but I am not here for that kind of business, not at all. I am here to attend the wedding on the first of next month of the children of two dear friends of mine, two colleagues on certain misbegotten endeavours in the Empire of Russia during the aforementioned war. So, your interest is ideally timed as those months are once again top of my mind.