by Anna King
‘We can’t stay here. Cop hold of his legs, Tom, I’ll take the top half.’
‘But he’s been hit in the chest, we…’
‘Fer Christ’s sake, Tom,’ Andy bellowed. ‘We ain’t got any choice. The next shell could land right on top of us, just like that lot of poor bastards. An’ I ain’t hanging round here ter find out.’
As rough hands gripped his arms and legs, Matthew tried weakly to protest. Not at the rough handling, but at the suicidal attempt to get him back to the safety of their lines. It was a hopeless task. It was one thing for a man to rim and dodge bullets and shells across a mile of desolate, muddy wasteland, which could suck a man down like quicksand, but it was quite another to attempt it while carrying a dead weight. For once such a journey began they would be exposed, with no chance to rim for cover. It was madness even to attempt such a thing. But they were going to! Oh, Lord, the bravery of these men. He couldn’t let them do this; he had to try to stop them. He didn’t want to be left here to die, alone and helpless, but he was an officer, and he had a duty to the men in the ranks.
‘Leave me. Go… go on, leave me here. Th… that’s an order.’ He could barely hear his own voice above the noise of the guns.
‘Ready, Bruv?’ Tommy looked at Andy.
‘Whenever you are, mate.’
Scrabbling out of the trench, Tommy took hold of the captain under his arms, while Andy gripped the leather boots tightly round the ankles. Shutting their minds to the perilous journey ahead, they started off.
* * *
Lenny, his face set against the awful stench, emptied the contents of one of the latrines into a gaping shell-hole, then grabbed a shovel and quickly covered the foul, evil-smelling mess with mud and gravel. This part of his duty done, he bent and picked up a sprayer from the ground and sprinkled the shell-hole and surrounding area in creosol and chloride of lime.
He was on his way to another latrine when a small band of injured soldiers staggered past on their way to the nearest first-aid post, leaning on each other for support. Despite the wound in his leg, which was bleeding profusely, one soldier grinned at Lenny and quipped, ‘Yer must be working double shift terday, mate. We was all shitting a brick before we went over the top.’
Lenny reddened, then gave an embarrassed shrug and was about to move on, when another voice stopped him in his tracks.
‘Yeah, all right fer some, ain’t it? We could all pull that stroke, mate, pretending ter be a bit on the daft side ter get out of fighting, but some of us ’ave a bit more guts.’ The private, his face ravaged with pain, his bloodied left arm hanging uselessly by his side, ignored the protests of his companions and thrust his face aggressively into that of the startled Lenny.
‘Look at yer, yer spineless lump. I don’t care if yer are a few sandwiches sort of a picnic. It don’t take brains ter pick up a gun an’ fire, or ter get stuck inter a fight. I’ve seen yer, walking round acting gormless. Well, it’s paid orf, ain’t it, an’ yer right where yer belong, yer useless article, in among the shit. Yer muvver must be proud of yer!’
‘Come on, Bill,’ another man urged wearily, ‘leave the lad alone, it’s not ’is fault.’ Turning to Lenny, he said tiredly, ‘Take no notice, son. ’E don’t mean it. Yer do a good job, an’ we’re all grateful, ’cos wivout blokes like you, we’d really be up ter our necks in it.’ The man smiled kindly into Lenny’s stricken face before moving on.
Lenny remained rooted to the spot, trembling in every part of his body. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to put up with derisive remarks – because his job was normally carried out by elderly men, not strong, fit men like himself – but today was the first time he had experienced such hatred, such stomach-curdling contempt, and something inside him snapped.
Throwing the shovel and sprayer to the ground, he took to his heels, not knowing what he could do, just knowing that he had to do something – anything that would take away the gnawing self-loathing he had endured for the past three years. Up ahead was a first-aid post, and piled high to the left of the hastily constructed building lay a stack of stretchers.
They were all still waiting for the arrival of stretcher- bearers from the Royal Army Medical Corps, who were at present unable to get through the heavy artillery fire. Lenny eyed the stack of stretchers, the germ of an idea beginning to form in his fevered mind.
He was sick of being called a coward, of being jeered at, talked about, and once even spat on, but it was that crack about his mother that had finally proved too much to bear. She wouldn’t know yet about his father, but he silently prayed that she would never find out about her husband’s last moments. Lenny had witnessed the sickening scene, had heard the big, bluff man who was his father beg and sob, pleading to be allowed to remain in the trench.
Lenny felt no great sorrow at his father’s death, for in the months they had been together, Alfie had not only allowed his son to be publicly humiliated, but had joined in the cruel taunts. No, he wasn’t sorry his father was dead. At least now his mother was safe for good. She would never again know the feel of Alfie Ford’s fists, nor the fear his presence had inspired.
His mother! Tears sprang to Lenny’s eyes and he angrily dashed them away with the back of his hand. She was so grateful he wasn’t involved in the actual fighting, and the letters that came regularly were filled with love and earnest entreaties, begging Lenny not to mind too much, and not to do anything foolish.
He looked up at the sky in despair. It was still dark, except for those moments when the blackness was illuminated by artillery fire. The bombardment seemed to be getting heavier, noisier – and Tommy and Andy were out there in the thick of it all. And Captain Winter, he mustn’t forget Captain Winter.
He felt so useless, so…!
‘Bugger it, I’ve got ter do something, I’ve got to.’ The exclamation held all the frustration, fear and shame that Lenny had harboured against himself since the war had begun. Without stopping to think, he yanked a stretcher from the top of the pile and, gripping the wooden handles, began to run, dragging the stretcher behind him.
* * *
Tommy and Andy were lost. There were no landmarks to guide them, no helpful signs to let them know they were on the right path back to their own lines. Zigzagging as best they could to avoid the shell-holes, the brothers staggered on, the figure they held becoming heavier by the minute. They had no breath to talk, and even if they had, their voices would have been drowned among the unrelenting noise of the barrage. Every so often they had to stop and rest, to change ends, to exchange a reassuring smile, before picking up their cumbersome burden once more. As the mud and clay flew in the air around them, they realised that they were in as much danger from their own artillery as from that of the Germans.
Both men were almost on their knees, their eyes half- blinded by flying mud, when Tommy glanced up wearily and saw, almost in disbelief, the dressing station, the white-painted sign just visible in the early-morning light.
‘An… Andy, I… look…’ Tommy’s voice came out as a strangled sob of relief.
Behind him Andy, suddenly infused with a second wind, gripped the captain’s legs more firmly.
‘Yeah, I… I see it, Bruv… I see it.’
Tommy, his arms feeling as if they were being slowly wrenched out of their sockets, squinted at the two relay-bearers who were running towards them from the dressing station, a stretcher held between them.
‘Bleeding hell, is it worth it?’ Tommy muttered, as valuable time was wasted transferring the captain onto the canvas stretcher.
‘Bet you two could do with a nice cuppa,’ one of the relay-bearers shouted as they trotted off with their burden.
Hoisting his rifle more firmly over his shoulder, Tommy followed, his head turning towards his brother.
‘Did yer hear that, Bruv, they’re gonna give us a cuppa. Makes it all worth while, don’t it?’
Andy smiled tiredly, his lips trembling with exhaustion. He wasn’t a religious man, but now he raised his e
yes upwards and was about to say a silent prayer of thanks, when a bullet from a German sniper took the back of his head off.
Tommy was still talking.
‘I think we deserve the VC fer this, but I ain’t greedy. A cup a tea’ll do nicely…’ He glanced back over his shoulder, then his stomach seemed to come up at a rush, filling his chest, his throat, cutting off the scream that was swelling his entire body. His mouth opened and closed futilely, whatever strength he had left draining from his arms and legs. He remained standing, too frozen with horror to move. Then he was screaming and falling, as he scrabbled his way on hands and knees to where his brother lay still.
‘Andy… Andy… Noooooo.‘
Sobbing, he tried frantically to raise the inert form, and when he put his arm under Andy’s neck to lift him and saw what was left of his brother’s head, he began to scream wildly.
Hands were trying to pull him away, but he fought them, gabbling, ‘No, no, yer don’t understand… He’s me brother. I can’t leave him here, he’s me brother… me brother. Andy… Andy, come on, Bruv. Yer can’t be dead, I won’t let yer be dead… Oh, Andy, Andy. Don’t leave me, Bruv… Don’t leave me. Pl… please don’t leave me…’
Two miles further down the line, Lenny, his face red with exertion, staggered to the first-aid post, then flopped down on the hard ground beside the stretcher he had dragged across one and a half miles of desolate, shell- pitted country.
The wounded man he had saved reached over the side of the stretcher, wrung Lenny’s hand and burst into tears.
‘Gawd bless yer, mate. Yer saved me life. I’ll never ferget yer fer this.’ Then he was whipped away inside the first-aid post, still declaring his gratitude.
Lenny lay half-sprawled on the ground, a warm feeling spreading through his body. He was exhausted, cut and bleeding from the hazardous journey, and yet he felt… He couldn’t put it into words for the moment, he just knew that he felt good. A huge grin spread over his dirt- streaked face, and without stopping for a further rest, he grabbed a stretcher that was lying on the ground outside the first-aid post and headed back the way he had come.
He had travelled almost half a mile before the word he had been searching for came to him.
The feeling he had inside him was pride. When that man had shaken his hand and said what he had… Well, Lenny had thought he was going to burst. For the first time in his life, he felt proud of himself.
When a mortar shell landed directly in his path, Lenny Ford died instantly. But in the moments preceding his death, he was a happy man.
* * *
Tommy found himself on the quayside, wandering in a daze in and out of the hundreds of wounded men lying on stretchers, on the ground, leaning up against Red Cross lorries, all bandaged heavily – all on their way home to Blighty.
Bewildered, Tommy tottered unsteadily along the edge of the quay and would have fallen into the sea, if a passing nurse hadn’t grabbed his arm. Gently leading him away from the danger, the middle-aged nurse settled him against a nearby ramp before hurrying on.
How had he got here? He couldn’t remember getting on the train, but he must have done. There was no other way to get to the quay except by train. And why was he here? He wasn’t wounded – was he? Carefully inspecting his body, Tommy shook his head in bewilderment. What was going on? And where was Andy?
Then he was being herded up the gangplank onto a Red Cross boat. He wanted to protest, to tell someone he was all right. Then a sergeant came up to where he was lying and asked for his papers and Tommy knew, without knowing quite how he had managed it, that he was going AWOL, and a voice in his head told him to keep quiet, to play dumb, and it had worked. He was going home. Going away from the slaughter, the carnage, the stink and the misery.
He was going home – going home without Andy. Going absent without leave.
Going home to his mother!
* * *
On 6th November of that same year, Passchendaele was taken at a loss of 245,000 British lives. Some argued that it was too heavy a price to pay for a ridge and a burnt-out village, but by that time the generals were already planning their next battle.
Chapter Twenty
‘You’re going to spoil that child, between the two of you. He only has to murmur and you nearly break your necks to see who can get to him first.’ Nellie, her face bearing a look of exasperation, was seated by a roaring fire, her fingers busily clicking her knitting needles, from which a pale blue garment was beginning to take shape. Peering over her reading glasses, she looked at the two women kneeling either side of a fluffy new rug and anxiously watching the wailing infant while Emily changed his cotton nappy.
‘It’s still dry, so he can’t be crying for that reason, and I’ve only just fed him, so he can’t be hungry.’ Emily looked at her mother for advice, her blue eyes clouded with worry.
With an impatient sigh, Nellie laid down her knitting and, pushing the two women to one side, picked up the red-faced baby and expertly laid him over her shoulder. Walking slowly back to her chair, she looked sideways and, when the tiny face broke into a lop-sided grin, she felt her heart melt with love. It had been hard at times, listening to the whispers and seeing the knowing looks follow her and Emily whenever they ventured out into the street. If it hadn’t been for Dot Button, who had made it clear that anyone upsetting Emily would have her to answer to, the situation might have been a lot worse. But since the child’s birth, almost five months ago, Nellie couldn’t imagine life without him now. Cuddling the baby in her arms, she gently rocked him back and forth and soon the small eyelids began to droop.
‘There you are,’ she said in grandmotherly triumph. ‘Nothing the matter with him. He’s probably just fed up with you two always hovering over him.’ Settling herself more comfortably she added, ‘Why don’t you both go out for a few hours, it would do you good. Go down to the pub for a couple of drinks. He’ll be perfectly safe here with me.’
‘No, it’s all right, Mum,’ Emily said quickly. ‘I don’t fancy going out, it’s too cold.’
Casting a disparaging look at her daughter, Nellie turned her gaze to her sleeping grandchild.
‘Maybe your mum’s right, Em.’ Doris had now moved and was sitting at the table. ‘You’ve hardly set foot outta the house since His Nibs was born. We wouldn’t have ter stay long, an’ like yer mum said, it’d do us both good ter get out of the house fer a while.’
Emily sat down opposite her friend, her hand still clutching the dry nappy. She looked at Doris and marvelled again at how much she had changed during the past year. With the pigmentation gone from the front of her hair and from her face, Doris looked a different person. You could still see the scars round her grey eyes, but they had faded considerably since the accident. Her brown hair was now long and shiny and her complexion clear, and Emily found herself wishing that Tommy was here to witness the transformation in his old friend.
‘What are yer staring at?’ Doris demanded, her face beginning to flush under Emily’s close scrutiny. ‘Have I got a bit of dirt on me face or somefink?’
Emily laughed.
‘No, silly. I was just thinking how nice you looked, if you must know.’
Doris squirmed uncomfortably.
‘Yeah, in a dim light.’ She gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘Well, yer coming out or not?’
Emily dropped her gaze, her fingers pulling at the soft material in her hand.
‘I don’t know, Doris. We can’t really afford it, can we? And before you start,’ she said quickly, as Doris made to speak, ‘I’m not breaking into that money Captain Winter sent me. I know I was grateful for it, when it started coming after Joseph was born, but now you’re working in the bakery, and Mum’s working full time in the fish and chip shop, I don’t feel right about spending it.’ Now it was her turn to blush, as Doris gave her a penetrating stare. Folding the nappy into a neat square, she murmured, ‘Don’t look at me like that, Doris. You know I’ve tried to stop the money being sent, but that solicitor insi
sts he can’t stop the payments until he has written authority from Captain Winter. And I’ve written to Matt… I mean, Captain Winter, about it, but he insists it’s only what I’m entitled to… Ooh, never mind, I don’t want to talk about it any more, except to say that with yours and mum’s money coming in, we’re comfortable and…’
‘I thought yer just said we couldn’t afford ter go out. Make yer mind up, Em.’ Doris grinned across the table.
‘Oh, you,’ Emily laughed and threw the folded nappy at her friend.
‘Bleeding hell, Em,’ Doris protested laughingly. ‘Don’t get inter the habit of doing that, the next one might have… ’Ere, who’s that outside the window?’ Getting up from her chair, Doris marched over to the front window and peered out. ‘I could have sworn I saw someone lurking about out there,’ she said, frowning as she let the curtain fall back into place. Then she brightened. ‘Well, Dilly Day-dream, are yer coming out fer a drink or not?’
Emily hesitated, her eyes darting to where the baby lay contentedly on her mother’s lap, then she shrugged.
‘Oh, all right, but just the one. I’ll have to get back in time for Joseph’s next feed.’
‘Do the lad a favour, Em,’ Doris said patiently. ‘Start calling him Joe, will yer. It’d be all right if yer lived somewhere posh, but yer know what it’s like round here. The poor little begger’ll be tormented rotten if yer keep calling him Joseph. He’ll be for ever coming home with a black eye.’
Emily felt her body tense and quickly turned away. If she lived somewhere posh! Wasn’t that what she was hoping for? Deep down didn’t she nurture the hope that when Matthew returned, he would come for her. She hadn’t given him any encouragement in the letters she wrote to him, just in case he was regretting what he’d said that day in the park. It was strange how her feelings towards him had changed, because while she had never looked upon him as anything other than her employer’s nephew when she was with him, now that he was away, she realised just how much she missed his company. He filled her thoughts every waking day, and every night she prayed for his safe return, along with Lenny, Tommy and Andy. Mounting the stairs, she called over her shoulder, ‘I’ll get our coats.’