to a life of leisure and conspicuous consumption, riding hunters, from his large country residence, nearby and almost opposite the offending pillbox. To be absolutely fair, Joe pointed out that he was, after all, the Chairman of Sunderland Football Club and perhaps not as entirely useless as suggested by Norris. The latter would have none of it. Indeed, he was threatening to turn out the platoon, surround his mansion and blow the bloody Colonel’s brain out: if he had one. Already he was on his feet, service revolver out of its holster, and brandishing it about wildly. Joe just hoped the safety catch was engaged. In an effort to calm his superior, Joe tentatively suggested that the demolition might be a good project for the platoon at this time and a distinct aid in raising the level of motivation. A very, very long silence ensued. Norris eventually saw the value of Joe’s idea and said,
“You’re right as always Bedell, I’ll contact the Royal Engineers at Barnard Castle and lay it on for next Sunday: let’s get the parade underway”.
The die was cast.
Word quickly got around the village regarding the impending ‘fireworks’. The pubs, clubs, chapels, churches and the local co-operative stores were alive with fervent discussion and expectation. By the middle of the week Norris had confirmed that a couple of Sappers, a sergeant and lance corporal, would be at the Drill Hall at 08.00 hrs next Sunday. They would require the assistance of the platoon to clear out the pillbox, drill the concrete, lay the charges and guard the site. Their O.C., who had spoken to Norris, by phone, assured him there would be no problem with the demolition. For his part, the Platoon Commander, never one to miss an opportunity to show the flag, issued a Part I Order:
NUMBER 4 PLATOON
‘C’ COMPANY
NUMBER 2
HOME GUARD
The above platoon will parade at 0745hrs on Sunday 27th May 1945 at the Drill Hall of the Royal British Legion, New Silksworth, County Durham.
Full Battle Order will be worn, 303 Rifles will be drawn from the Armoury at 0730hrs, 16 rounds of ammunition will be issued to each Other Rank. The Platoon Sergeant and Junior NCOs will draw Sten Guns with 4 Magazines per man.
Captain Norris. Officer Commanding
He instructed Joe to contact old Nichol Orr and requisition his handcart for the use of the platoon on the day. The platoon duly paraded on the day with a full complement. Joe brought it to order, inspected and adjusted the dress of one or two sloppy soldiers, stood them to attention in review order, and awaited the arrival of the Platoon Commander. At exactly 08.00 hrs Captain Norris marched in front of the platoon, replaced Joe, who took up his position as Right Marker, then screamed the order:
‘General Salute, Present Arms!’.
Norris returned the salute and Joe gave the ‘Order Arms’.
All of this had been keenly observed by an inquisitive crowd of villagers, on the road, at Castlereagh Street. The platoon was now ready to march off, in columns of three, with a loaded handcart and two sappers bringing up the rear. The Captain was at the front of the column, complete with silver mounted swagger stick and marching with the arrogance, only he could muster. The platoon proceeded along the street turning right into Blind Lane, where Sergeant Dryden, of the local constabulary, was there to halt any traffic which could hinder the progress of the column.
It was a lovely, fresh, warm, summer morning and hundreds of the villagers, young and old, had turned out to cheer and clap their soldiers en route. Indeed, the intelligence of the previous Saturday evening told Sergeant Dryden that the numbers expected on the streets could threaten “public order and decency”, so, his four constables were all on duty that morning. P.C. Wright, poor chap, had just come off night watch and was dragooned back on duty. The platoon wheeled left at the junction into the Ryhope road, passed St. Leonard’s R.C.Church to Tunstall Village Green where it swung right passed the Old Miners’ Homes, then Orr Avenue and into open farmland. Along the whole route the platoon had been clapped and cheered but now it was largely on its own and Joe was calling out the time: ‘left, right, left, right…’. There was, however, a group of about a half-dozen young boys, determined to be in on the action, larking about behind the handcart. A further half-mile brought the platoon to the site of the pillbox. It overlooked the junction of the road, positioned at the back of an ancient field, on a small elevation. The road skirted the field and a hedge of hawthorn, interspersed with the odd may, in full bloom, provided the boundary. There at the field gate was a resplendent Colonel Prior, sat upon a very large and imposing chestnut gelding.
He was in Full Service Order, with knee length leather riding boots, ‘bulled’ to a mirror shine and almost the identical colour to his mount. On his chest were two long, packed rows of medal ribbons, so brilliant of colour, they appeared to shine like jewels in the morning sun. His peaked cap was bounded in scarlet, gilded oak leaves decorated the peak and the gold, rampant lion and crown of a Senior Field Officer of the British Army was emblazoned on the front. He held a long riding whip in his right hand. Much to the disgust of Norris he was duty bound to order the platoon to ‘eyes left’ and, in turn, gave the colonel the salute, then, halted the column. The rider touched his cap with the whip, in acknowledgement. Captain Norris barked out his orders and the platoon dispersed to its tasks.
“So you have managed to organize the demolition captain”, Prior said in his most patronising manner.
“Sah”, responded Norris.
“Are you quite sure that you and your men are up to this?” the Colonel enquired.
“You can be sure, sah, that my men are fully trained in the use of high explosives, sah”, retorted the Captain.
He had obviously omitted telling the Colonel that the platoon had the able assistance of two ‘gentlemen’ from the Royal Engineers. That was his secret!
“I shall hang around to see what kind of job you do Captain”, informed the Colonel from his vaulted position. “What time will the demolition begin?”
“At about 1130 hours sah!”, was the cryptic response of the platoon commander.
After about three hours the men, under the direction of the sergeant engineer, ably assisted by Joe, had drilled the holes, set the charges, stemmed the holes, linked and wired in the detonators. They then ran the detonating wire and charge box, the two hundred yards, from the pillbox to the road, on the other side of the thick hedge. The rest of the platoon had returned the handcart, with its pile of gear and excess charges and detonators, to the road. Captain Norris then ordered them to round up the noisy and unruly boys into a group and keep them in a place of safety behind the hedge. The platoon went silent as the imminent explosion drew near. Even the boys stopped their incessant noise. The engineer lifted the plunger of the detonator box, to raise a charge and waited for the order to fire from Norris. Norris pulled himself up to his greatest height and screamed at the top of his voice,
“Fire!”
There was a muffled bang, the concrete box shuddered a moment and then settled back to where it had always been. The colonel looked down his nose at Norris with total disdain, then, nudged his horse into a dignified walk and left the scene without a word.
Captain Norris was totally wild about this most appalling episode in the history of his command. He could barely speak. It was just as well. Joe couldn’t imagine the rich comments he would have had for the sappers, who were responsible for the debacle. The most bitter pill of all was his public humiliation and his failure in front of the colonel. Prior would ensure that it was the talk of every officer’s mess in the county and Norris knew he would be the butt of their pathetic jokes.
Joe took over. He formed the men up and started the march back. The dejected figure of the captain, marching this time not at the front but on the flank. In the meantime, the young boys had dispersed to their homes with great speed. The events of the morning were spilling out of their mouths, to the delight of their families and anyone else that cared to li
sten. As the platoon reached Blind Lane the whole village was aware of its failure. The men of Dad’s Army fixed their eyes to the front, not caring to meet the scornful gazes of those on the street. At the Drill Hall the platoon fell out. Weapons were returned to the armoury and then they left for Sunday lunch. Captain Norris disappeared to his office to lick his wounds. Joe left too deciding that his commander was best left alone.
On Tuesday evening Joe turned up as usual at 18.30 hrs. Norris was already at his desk gazing into space. The sergeant saluted: he did not respond but continued to stare. After what seemed an interminable time, Norris spoke.
“Joe we’ve got to blow the bloody pillbox up ourselves”.
“We can’t do that sir, we haven’t the gear”.
“Right”, said the Captain, “You’ll need to get it from the pit”.
“But sir, that’s illegal and you know it, we’ll all finish up in Durham Jail. Anyway, even if we got the gear who would set it up?”.
“You Joe, you man”, responded Norris, “you are nearly finished your shot-firing course at Harton Pit, am I right?”.
“Yes sir”.
“Then lad, you will blow up the pillbox and that bastard Prior to kingdom come, look down his nose at me will he, we’ll show him Joe, we’ll show the
The Battlefield: A Short Story Page 2