by Anna King
Oh, his mother! Now there was a woman who could write. She’d written enough pages to fill a book. Not to him, though – oh, no, not a word to him. Andy tried to cover for her and spare his brother’s feelings, by reading out the letters and starting them ‘Dear Andy and Tommy’, but Tommy knew differently. Oh! Oh, now, don’t start feeling sorry for yourself, mate, his mind cautioned. You’ve enough to worry about. Don’t make more grief for yourself. He moved restlessly, his mind shifting towards the coming dawn.
After this one, he would ask again about Blighty leave. He was due, his whole regiment was, but their requests had been turned down. Instead they had been granted a few days off behind the lines, but he didn’t want to wander around France, he wanted to go home, now more than ever. He needed to get back home to sort things out with Emily.
‘You all right, Tom?’ Andrew’s voice, barely a whisper, cut into Tommy’s thoughts.
Smiling down into the darkness, he whispered back, ‘Yeah, I’m all right, Bruv. I was just thinking about Blighty. Maybe we’ll get some leave after this one. What d’yer reckon, Andy?’
Andy smiled back, his teeth and eyes all that could be seen in the dug-out.
‘Don’t get yer hopes up, mate. Anyway, let’s get today out of the way first, eh? Mind you, if we do get some leave, the first place I’m heading for is the fish an’ chip shop, then the pub.’ A loud murmur of agreement from several soldiers nearby brought a grin to Andy’s lips. Then, nodding towards Tommy’s hand, he added quietly, ‘You’ll wear that out. It must be interesting, you’ve hardly stopped reading it ever since it arrived. ’Ere, Doris ain’t proposed ter yer, has she?’
Tommy started, then put the letter back, and with a shaky laugh he muttered, ‘Nah, nothing as serious as that. Just letting us know what’s going on back home.’ A sense of guilt assailed him immediately. In all their lives they had never kept secrets from each other, until now. But this business with Emily was too personal to share, even with his brother. In truth, he felt ashamed of his actions that night. He hadn’t forced Emily. Oh, no, he mentally shook his head in denial, but even so he should have stopped, should have been the strong one. And there was another reason he hadn’t told his brother. Although Andy had never said anything, Tommy had a sneaking suspicion that his brother had a soft spot for Emily, and if that were true, Andy wouldn’t be passing him a cigar when he found out. No, like Andy had just said, let’s get today out of the way first. There would be plenty of time to talk afterwards; when they were on their way home for a spot of much-deserved leave.
‘You sure, Tom? You’ve been acting strange ever since that letter arrived, and…’
‘Officer coming, put yer mucky pictures away, officer coming.’ The whisper floated down to Tommy and Andy, and both men pulled themselves up slightly in order to make room for the approaching officer to pass. Instead the tall, distinguished man stopped at their side saying, ‘Is everything all right, private?’
‘Oh… oh, hello, sir. Yeah, I mean yes, sir.’
Tommy’s head snapped round and up at the tall figure wearing a heavy trench-coat and flat peaked cap, but he didn’t attempt to stand to attention. All such procedures were rendered useless in the trenches; unless you wanted to have your head blown off by a German sniper. The officer standing over them wasn’t in their regiment, the 1/13th Battalion, but attached to the 2/4th Battalion, which was camped in the trench about a mile down the line. But a lot of the officers took to visiting the dug-outs, stopping here and there to have a word with the men, by way of trying to keep morale high. And as officers went, this bloke wasn’t bad. You could talk to this one, ask him questions, and even have a bit of a laugh. Still, you had to be careful not to overstep the mark, because when it came right down to it, he was still an officer.
Bearing this in mind, Tommy touched the tip of his helmet by way of a salute and said, ‘I was just saying ter me brother, we’re overdue for our Blighty leave, sir.’
Captain Matthew Winter gave a sardonic smile.
‘I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that, private. As regards Blighty leave, it appears that we are all in the same boat – or trench, in our case.’
Encouraged by the officer’s friendly tone, Tommy cleared his throat and asked hesitantly, ‘Sir, about Lenny… Erm, I mean, Private Ford. He won’t have ter fight, will he? I mean, if things get really bad, he won’t have ter…’
Matthew’s eyes clouded over at the mention of Lenny’s name. He had arrived back in France after his brief leave and been plunged head-first into the third battle at Ypres. Since then he had lost over half his original battalion, and three officers, two of whom had been good friends – and good men. It had been in a rare moment of rest that he had noticed Lenny, and for a brief moment he had imagined himself to be dreaming. But it had been Lenny, all right, there was no mistaking that open, guileless face, which stood out like a beacon among the weary, grim faces of his companions. And the way he had greeted him! Matthew could hear Lenny now, saying, ‘Oh, Captain Winter, I ain’t half glad ter see yer, an’ another two of me mates are here an’ all. Ain’t that nice… I mean, it’s nice having all me mates here with me.’
Nice! Good God! Matthew remembered looking out over the bloody battlefield, at the bodies of men and horses, their bellies ripped open by mortar fire, littered over the barren wasteland. He had looked then at his men, with their dirty, mud-caked faces, their eyes dulled by the constant bombardment of the ongoing battle. Then he had raised his gaze to Lenny, and the smile that was splitting the youth’s broad face in two, and to his amazement had managed to smile back. Oh, Lenny. Poor, poor Lenny. Yet how he had envied the young man in that moment, for he had seemed utterly oblivious to the carnage surrounding him. He hadn’t been involved in the fighting so far, thanks to a keen-eyed and compassionate sergeant, and Matthew had lent his weight to the man’s decision, using his rank to ensure that Lenny stayed safely away from the immediate front.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Matthew glanced down at the soldier, another of Lenny’s friends, and answered soberly, ‘It’s all right, private. Lenny will remain where he is. I’ve seen to it.’
Both Tommy and Andy breathed a sigh of relief, for even though Lenny Ford was only a year younger than themselves, they looked on him as a younger brother, a small boy caught up in a man’s world.
‘Thank yer, sir, that was good of you.’ Tommy, his face earnest now, was looking at Matthew in gratitude. ‘His dad copped it a couple of weeks ago, did yer know?’
Matthew’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
‘No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, private. I know what it’s like to lose a friend…’
Both Tommy and Andy snorted in disgust.
‘He wasn’t any friend of ours, sir,’ Tommy answered first, then went on to inform Matthew about the late Alfie Ford’s character. And, as the man’s brutal life was exposed, Matthew’s eyebrows rose even higher, until they disappeared beneath the peak of his cap. Emily’s father, by all accounts, had been a brute of the first order; she had told him something of her family’s history but he hadn’t realised it was that bad. But then Emily was a private person, not one to unload her personal problems onto others. Matthew had known of many men who honestly didn’t see anything wrong with knocking their wives about, but to take one’s own half-witted son into a bloody, merciless war… It beggared belief. Yet by all accounts, that’s exactly what Emily’s father had done. Well, that was one soldier who wouldn’t leave a grief-stricken family behind him. He paused, uncertain whether to ask these two men any further questions. They knew, via Lenny, that he, Matthew, was the nephew of Emily’s employer, as well as being a friend of the family, so to speak. But they hadn’t attempted to get over-familiar with him, as some men would have done.
Matthew’s gloved hands were clasped behind his back, the stiff fingers interlocked tightly. What the hell was he doing here? He had every right to be here, of course – all the officers visited as many dug-outs as possible prior
to a battle. But this was the second time this week that he had ended up in here. Yet still he hesitated, the questions he dared not utter locked behind closed lips. He gave himself a mental shake. No, no, he would leave things as they were. He straightened up abruptly. Was he going mad? Of course he mustn’t probe any further. Yet the dark-haired soldier…
Matthew was sure he was the same man he had seen with Emily at Victoria Station last year. The man who had held Emily in a tight embrace, the sight of which had acted as a physical blow to Matthew’s tentative hopes. Was this man the father of Emily’s child? Did either of these men even know of Emily’s condition? Lenny didn’t. If he had done, he would have said something. People of Lenny’s simplicity couldn’t keep secrets to themselves. Like children, they had to share their knowledge with others.
Oh, Lord, he must get on. Besides, there would be nothing gained by knowing if this good-looking, young – yes, damn it, young – man was responsible for Emily’s condition. Oh, that was quaint terminology. Now, if he had been brought up like these men, he would have thought of it as being ‘up the duff’ or ‘in the family way’, or several even coarser descriptions. But no matter how it was referred to, it all boiled down to the same thing in the end – and he didn’t for the life of him know why he was torturing himself about something that he was powerless to change.
‘Is it still on fer six o’clock, sir?’
The fair brother was addressing him now, and Matthew, giving himself a shake, replied almost curtly, ‘Yes, private, it’s still on for six o’clock.’ He sensed the sudden tension among the men, looked around him and added in a softer tone, ‘Good luck to you all.’
And, hearing the genuine empathy in the captain’s voice, Tommy and Andy replied warmly, ‘An’ you, sir.’
One wag, sitting only yards away, piped up, ‘Any chance of a mornin’ cuppa, sir? An’ a good fry-up would go down a treat.’
And Matthew, his face split into a grin, answered back heartily, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thanks, sir.’
‘And, good luck, men.’
‘Yeah, good luck ter yer too, sir.’
The rough cockney voices started to come at him from all sides, bringing a surge of emotion to Matthew’s heart. How many of these men would be alive this time tomorrow? But he couldn’t allow himself to think like that. He had learnt early on in the war not to dwell on the eventuality of dying. Such thoughts were best put away in a corner of one’s mind. That was the only way to keep one’s sanity.
* * *
The dawn of 26th October was breaking. The men, some still cracking jokes, were leaning against the parapets, their guns by their sides. Officers walked up and down the duck-boards, having a quiet word with their men before giving the order to go over.
One soldier, the fear evident in his eyes, asked his companion nervously, ‘What time is it, Charlie?’ And the answer came back at him quickly, ‘Why, you got somewhere important ter go, Nobby?’
Up and down the line men bantered with each other, endeavouring to keep their spirits up. Sergeant Grady of the 1/13th Battalion stopped in front of the Carter brothers and looked first at his watch, then up at his lieutenant and said, ‘Five more minutes.’
And the lieutenant replied, ‘Yes, that’s what I have, sergeant.’
In the dug-out, Tommy and Andy gripped hands.
‘Good luck, Bruv.’
‘Yeah, you too, Tommy.’
Then they stood ready, their hearts beating wildly, trying not to think, not to feel. Despite the coldness of the morning, both men’s hands were sweating. They were prepared for the order, yet when it came they both jumped.
‘Over. Over. Over.’ The order rang down the trench, being picked up and carried on down the line.
Then Tommy was up the ladder and over the top, with Andy by his side, as they raced across the open space, their booted feet slipping every now and then in the mud, although they managed to keep upright. They were both yelling, screaming wildly as they fired their guns, not knowing if the bullets were finding a target or simply being discharged into emptiness. On all sides screams filled the air, and it was impossible to tell if they were screams of bravado or pain. Shells exploded, ripping great holes into the mud-caked ground, throwing up lumps of clay and stones into the air.
Then Tommy was down, his feet tripping over a body in his path, and a loud cockney voice yelled, ‘Get orf, yer clumsy bastard.’
Stumbling awkwardly to his feet, Tommy grinned and held out his hand.
‘Sorry, mate. Here, upsadaisy.’ Then the grin slid from his face as a stray bullet slammed into the man’s face, instantly pulverising it to a bloody, unrecognisable mess.
‘Oh… Oh, God… Oh, God…’
‘Tommy, get going… Don’t look, just keep going.’ Andy was by his side, pulling him along. ‘Move, Tommy, move.‘ And Tommy moved.
They ran on, slipping and sliding, then they were fighting their way through barbed wire, before landing in the thick of the fighting. Figures were coming at them; the enemy. Tommy sprang forward, his mud-streaked face a mask of grim determination.
Lunge! Stick it in. Turn. Pull out.
Don’t look down, don’t look at the blood. Keep on fighting, keep on killing. It’s them or us.
A German blocked his path, his gun aimed at Tommy’s heart, and then the gun dropped, its owner falling heavily beside it. Tommy glanced round at the soldier who had saved his life, but the man was already running on. Tommy didn’t recognise him. Obviously the companies had overlapped again.
A hail of German fire sent Tommy sprawling for cover, and as he crawled along the shell-pitted ground he spotted a figure propped up by the side of a trench.
Recognising the uniform of one of his officers, Tommy carefully turned the man over just as a Very light exploded overhead, and saw that it was Captain Winter. The upper part of his body was covered in blood. At first glance Tommy thought the man was dead, and he was about to go on when he felt a hand pull weakly at his sleeve.
Helping the captain to sit up, Tommy looked wildly around for Andy, but his brother was nowhere to be seen. There were bodies littered as far as the eye could see, and in the near distance khaki figures were advancing towards the enemy line.
‘It’s all right, sir. Don’t yer worry, I’ll soon have yer out of here.’
Putting his bayonet down, Tommy placed his hands under the captain’s armpits and dragged him into the relative safety of the dug-out, just as a shell exploded, showering both men in stones and fragments of mud and dust. Again Tommy muttered, ‘It’s all right, sir. Don’t worry, I’ll get yer back, you just lie…’ Another blast tore into the side of the trench and instinctively Tommy threw himself over the wounded figure. When the dust settled he grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry, sir. Hope yer don’t think I was making a pass at yer!’
Despite the pain, Matthew felt his lips twitch into a semblance of a smile. This man reminded him of someone, someone he had once met… Oh, yes, yes, that young woman, Emily’s friend. What was her name? Ah, yes, Doris. That was it, Doris. They would make a good pair, would Doris and Private Carter. And wouldn’t that be convenient for him? God in heaven! What was the matter with him? How could his mind work along such lines at a time like this? They would probably both be blasted to Kingdom Come before the day was out. But, no. No! He couldn’t let this man put his own life in jeopardy.
Struggling to speak, Matthew croaked out painfully, ‘You must leave, private. Go on, that’s an order, you…’ His head flopped back, the effort of talking proving too much for him. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead as the pain ravaged his body, and in his mind’s eye he saw Emily, dear, sweet, kind Emily. Oh, she was kind, her letters were filled with kindness, a polite kindness. But he didn’t want kindness, not from Emily. He wanted her love, and now he might never have the chance… the chance… Blackness descended, as black as the darkest night, and Matthew was lifted temporarily from the pain and fear of reality.
‘Sor
ry, sir, I didn’t hear yer. Besides, Lenny an’ Em would skin me alive, if I was ter leave yer here on yer own. They think of lot of yer, them two. Sir, sir, wake up, sir, we… Oh, shit!’ The exclamation was torn from Tommy’s lips as yet another shell landed nearby.
‘We’re gonna have ter move, sir.’ He had to shout now – the bombardment was getting heavier and frighteningly close. ‘Look… look, put yer arms round me neck… Oh, oh, it’s all right, sir, don’t worry.’ Tommy dropped his hands and the wounded man gasped in pain before lapsing once more into unconsciousness.
Matthew looked ashen in the glare of the artillery fire and Tommy bit down hard on his bottom lip. Bleeding hell! What was he going to do? He couldn’t just leave the man here.
A shower of stones rattled down the side of the trench accompanied by the sound of heavy boots approaching. Swiftly Tommy turned, his bayonet held out in front of him, his body slumping in relief as his brother slithered into the trench.
‘What the bleeding hell you playing at, yer silly bugger? I thought yer’d copped it… Oh, Gawd, is he dead?’ Andy nodded his head towards the unconscious figure behind Tommy.
Leaning his rifle against the side of the trench, Tommy muttered grimly, ‘Not yet, but he soon will be, if we don’t get him back ter the first-aid post… ’Ere, that was a stroke of luck you finding me. I ain’t half glad ter see yer, Bruv.’
‘It wasn’t luck, I had me eye on yer all the time. ’Ere, look, we ain’t on our own.’ Andy threw his arm out, gesturing to the far end of the trench, where a small group of soldiers had taken temporary shelter from the relentless bombardment. ‘Where the bleeding hell did they come from?’ The words were hardly out of his mouth when a giant mortar shell landed among the huddle of men, ripping limbs from uniformed bodies and throwing what was left up and over the side of the trench. Both Andy and Tommy had witnessed such scenes before, but it didn’t detract from the horror, didn’t stop the sick feeling from gripping their throats, or still the silent rage coursing through their bodies.