by Carl Leckey
He explains. “The Bloody Angels of the battlefield of course, saved our skin at the Mons river battle and I reckon we haven’t heard the last of them. You sure have got a lot to learn lads. I hope Old Fritz gives you time.” The soldier shakes his head with a sympathetic look on his grey face. He stands up rubbed his mess tins out with some leaves off the tree and informs us. “I’m off, look after yourselves boys and keep your heads down. Watch out for their snipers and our Officers. Their snipers are crack shots and our Officers are crack shits, Ha, ha. That especially applies to the senior ones. Don’t volunteer for anything, hear me and remember what I’ve told you. It might save your lives some day?” With that closing remark he saunters away.
The meeting with the old soldier left us with a lot to discuss as we make our way back to our tents. We all agree we would have liked to spend more time with him if possible but we were nevertheless grateful for the few tips he had given us.
This is the first time I have heard the Angels mentioned and it intrigued me. Billy reckons the old soldier seems a bit nutty to him and we should take no notice of his tales. Actually we are not badly off in this camp when we compared it to the training Hell holes we suffered in England
I meet the old soldier a couple of times more at meal times and he enlightens me further on the art of survival in the British Army. The last time I see him is the day before we move up towards the front line. He is perched in his usual place alone on the branch. I sit on the grass near him accompanied by my mate Billy. “By the way lad I notice you have no insignia on your uniform, what outfit are you with?” He addresses this question to me. “The Labour Corp,” I answer him proudly. My stomach lurches at his next remark. “You poor Bugger. I wouldn’t have your job for all the tea in China. Still I suppose some poor sods have got to do it, or we wouldn’t be able to see the Boche over the heap of bodies.” He shakes his head sympathetically. He adds. “You know looking at stranger’s dead bodies is not too bad lad, you get used to it after a while. It’s when you unexpectedly comes across someone you knows well, that’s the hardest part of this bloody war.”
He gives me some parting advice. “Look after yourself lad, don’t give them Officers a chance to put you in the shit beware, they are usually the enemy within. You should keep clear of the Red Caps at all costs they are not to be trifled with. In my opinion and I am not alone in my opinion the Boche are more sympathetic that those sods are to their own side.” The last declaration confuses me, but it isn’t long before his dire warning regarding Red Caps proves a piece of good advice. With that remark he takes a St Christopher medallion from around his neck before placing it in my hand. He asks. “I don’t know if you’re religious?” I shake my head and reply.
“I had enough of them psalm singing two faced bastards when I lived in an orphanage, they treated us kids terrible.”
He invites me to take the medallion. “Have this anyway, I know I had no time for all that rubbish either until I witnessed the Angels. Believe me when I tell you lad I saw them personally, so don’t let anyone tell you they don’t exist. They brought great comfort to us lads in the front line when we really needed it; especially the poor wounded lads. Wear this, it might keep you safe, you will need all the help you can get when you get sent to the front line. I believe it’s helped me through this Hell so far. My best pal gave it to me before they shipped him back to Blighty after being wounded. He reckoned it saved his life.” I am about to say, don’t you need it yourself when he spots an MP moving towards us. He grabs my hand, shakes it and disappears into the trees.
When we return to the tents the Corporal has a job for us.
“Latrines lovely boys, nice tasty job after your din, din eh?” We are issued with shovels and led to an area designated for a fresh set of latrines. The Sergeant arrives. “Now lads this is a useful military exercise. Depending on how quickly you can dig may extend your lives by a considerable time. I want to see how good you are at it. What a pity we haven’t any Boche prisoners here to match you against. We have this theory don’t we Corp?” The Corporal agrees. “We do that Sergeant.” The Sergeant continues where he left off. “We reckon that the fastest and deepest diggers will win this Bloody war.” The Corporal chips in with his two penny worth.
“You should heed what the Sergeant tells you lads its good advice he’s giving, there will be plenty of digging when we move forward eh Sarg?”
They both laugh as we commence digging at speed as instructed. I like to believe we finished our trench in record time. As I climb out of a completed trench puffing like an old steam engine I notice a flash of sunlight reflected off glass from the direction of the Chateau.
“Don’t worry about that lad.” The Sergeant informs me as he observes me staring in that direction. “That’s our H’officer keeping an eye on us he is a very decent bloke for an H’officer. In fact he is one of the best you’ll come across in this Army.” The Sergeant addresses the Corporal.
“He don’t like trenches do he Corp?” The Corporal agrees with a nod. The Sergeant further explains. “See the poor bugger was buried in one for five days until we dug him out eh Corp?” The Corporal adds. “He don’t like trenches at all does he ‘Sarg?” What a double act these men make. They certainly made us laugh with their remarks and actions. Billy whispers. “I’ve not seen better acts on the music halls than these two.”
“Time for smoko lads, come on up from the depths you lot.” The men clamber up from the trenches and collapse on the grass. We smoke and enjoy the sunshine. Most of us have stripped to the waist earlier on. The Sergeant addresses us. “Now lads you have done very well. You notice my mate the Corporal and I don’t shout a lot.” We keep silent expecting the usual Sergeant’s trap. The Sergeant and Corporal laugh.
“You’ve got more sense than to answer Eh! Lads? Well it’s not a trick question and I don’t blame you for being wary, but the fact is we don’t shout a lot. See, we both were lowly soldiers before being promoted to these grand heights. We decided that when we were placed in a position of power we would try something new. You will be pleased to hear it’s our Colonels policy as well. Treat the men with respect and they will work just as hard as if we were shouting and bawling at them all day. It certainly makes life a lot easier for us and saves our tonsils, don’t it Corp? When you go forward and suffer the crap you have to face there will be enough noise without us adding to it. Now come on lads, let’s get back to work. Job and finish and you can go and have a swim in the river. This is our last day of idleness, for tomorrow my brave hero’s we move forward to meet the enemy.”
We fairly race through the digging when the Sergeant conveyed this to us. When we have completed the tasks allotted, he congratulates us on our speedy endeavours and leads us down to a beautiful river. This crystal clear water meanders through the ornamental gardens of the Chateau, ending in a tree lined lake.
“What kind of people must have lived here before the war, I’ve never seen anything like it?” I ask Billy.
“Don’t know.” He replies. “But I bet the bastards were bloody rich and the likes of us wouldn’t be allowed in here to swim.” We cast off our uniforms and stark naked we leap into the river. The few swimmers amongst us venture out into deep water showing off our talent, the majority of none swimmers splash around in the shallows. We are having the time of our lives until a weird looking Major sporting a monocle arrives on the scene with a Captain in tow.
Red faced with anger, the Major began berating our Sergeant.
“How dare you let this riff raff into the river, it is strictly for the pleasure of Officers, how dare you allow these, these.” He struggles for a word to describe us. “These disgusting animals, to pollute the water with their filthy bodies, get them out of here at once and put yourself on a charge. Damn, damn nerve.” The Sergeant has to obey and began ordering us out of the river, the Major addresses his friend the Captain.
“You see Clive, I know you have only just come over from blighty, you most probably haven’t
encountered scoundrels like these before? Because they have spent some time in the front line they think they are the only ones winning this damn war. I mean without us chaps in HQ where would they be? You have to treat these devils with a firm hand otherwise they get quite uppity.” Clive nods “Thanks for the advice Roger.” The other lunatic continues with his tirade. “Damn me! A chap goes for a pleasant stroll after an excellent lunch and he is faced with a scene like this. It’s not on Clive.”
The upper class shit continues with his ranting as we reluctantly climb out of the water. I have just reached the bank when a voice calls from behind the trees. “Sergeant Jones, will you come over here if you please?” The Sergeant disappears into the copse. The Major evidently hadn’t heard the soft-spoken voice emitting from the trees as he waffled on to his companion. “Confound the fellow. Where does he think he is off to now? I have given him a direct order to clear this rabble out of here. I’ll have his stripes for this see if I don’t Clive.” The Sergeant reappears and salutes the fuming Major.
“Beg your pardon Sir. Another H’officer has countermanded your order for us to leave the river. He is over in the trees if you want to discuss the matter with him. I have been instructed to continue with the swimming lessons for these men as they are being trained for special duties. Beg your pardon Sir.” He salutes the spluttering bully and orders us. “Back into the river men the special training will carry on.”
The Major is seething with rage as he storms over towards the trees ranting and raving on his way, his anger before is only moderate but now he is really boiling. “Damn impertinence, I’ll sort this out.” He practically runs towards the hidden Officer who has dared to countermand his orders. The Sergeant whispers something to the Corporal. A smile appears on both their faces. The Captain stands in silence a few yards away from the river he is evidently embarrassed by the episode. I detect a loud protesting voice issuing from the direction of the trees, as I continue enjoying my special training.
After a few moments a figure bursts forth from the copse.
The Major, his face livid with uncontrollable temper rushes passed us heading towards the Chateau. He shouts to his companion to join him, we clearly hear him cursing as he storms by. “Damn the man! Damn! Damn! Damn him. Just because the swine has the good fortune to have a gong, he thinks he can Lord it over us hard working chaps at HQ. I shall sort him out see if I don’t.”
Evidently the common soldier has an ally in high places. Hidden from us or not, it gave us a great thrill to see a shit of a class snob put in his place. The identity of our benefactor remained unknown, we guessed however the mysterious person to be our Colonel.
We are ordered. “It’s time to go back to work lads.” Our Sergeant assembles us in ranks of two. He orders us back to a new task of burying two horses that have died of a mysterious disease. “Even the cooks won’t touch these two buggers.” He informs us laughing at his own joke. The Sergeant splits us into two teams and made a match of the digging. One of the NCO’s leads a team, the Corporal takes charge of the other.
“First team to finish gets a prize.” The Sergeant encourages us. We work in a frenzy, soil and clay virtually flying out of the hole in the ground. He laughs and jokes with us all the time as we dig the deep holes for the carcasses. The Corporal’s team wins, I feel proud to be a member of the winning side. After struggling and cursing we manage to tip the dead horses into the holes and cover them over with loose soil, finally we place sods of grass back over the mound. Standing in line at attention we wait expectantly to learn of our prize.
“Right lads back to the lines,” the Sergeant orders. We groan, Billy enquires.
“What about the prize Sarg?” The Sergeant laughs.
“You thought I forgot eh boys? Well you are mistaken, when you get back to your tents the surprise will be waiting for you. Courtesy of our H’officer, whom I might add is very pleased with the way you have worked since you have been here. Ok, off you go.”
We march at a terrific pace back to the lines, when we enter the tents each bed has a bottle of wine laid on top of the bed pack regardless of the winners or losers. What a party we had that night. Although we pretend we are hardened boozers, in fact this is the first alcoholic drink most of us have experienced. We certainly make pigs of ourselves? After the initial fun of opening the bottles without a corkscrew, we guzzle the wine direct from the bottles. The first couple of swigs reduce us to idiots and most of the lads, including me I’m sorry to say, throw up. Another hard lesson I have learned on that memorable day, the art of drinking slowly and in moderation.
Well, it is our last day in this particular camp. On the whole the three days spent here has been very happy as far as I am concerned. The discipline being very lax, parades and bullshit kept to the minimum. Looking around before we leave the camp it seems a very strange place. Hushed grey faced fatigued men come in from one direction then move out in two days.
Noisy fresh-faced troops replace them eager to get to the front and take on the enemy.
The two NCO’s in charge of us are magnificent men. I vow if ever I am promoted I will treat all the soldier’s in my charge in a similar manner. We have only one brief glimpse of our Colonel when he attends our last parade when we are given our postings. Will of the Whisper our NCO’s refer to the Officer behind his back, although I must admit without a shred of malice, I believe they have great affection and respect for him. The Corporal informs us they have served together since the beginning of the war, they certainly look after him and in turn he takes care of the men he commands.
An unusually good and kind Officer, we are fortunate to have him leading our little troop. We found, on talking to other soldiers, we are greatly envied by other units, who are mostly commanded by the usual horrible Officers.
A permanent staff member reveals the history of our commander, the Colonel should have been discharged as medically unfit, but he fought to stay on with his men. The awarding of the medal for bravery above and beyond the call of duty, and some family connections make it possible for him to remain on active service.
The Army, in their wisdom put him in charge of this odds and sods mob.
Posting parade
Next morning we are commanded to be on a special parade set for 0800hrs after breakfast. We have to attend with all our gear packed, ready to move out after allocation of our postings. My entire tent of nine men is assigned to a dressing station in a part of the line named the Somme. The Corporal is to remain in charge of us. The other occupants of the neighbouring tents have similar postings. Billy and I are grateful we have not been split up. I have developed some affection for him and the other lads in our tent despite some of their more obnoxious habits.
Two ambulances are delivered to our sector of the line. They are brand new and have recently been delivered from England. We load our gear aboard and set off on the journey of a lifetime.
There are three of us in the back, with the Corporal and an allocated driver in the front. Mud! I have never experienced so much thick, cloying mud. If once there had been roads where we travelled, they have long since disintegrated under the volume of traffic using them. We spend more time digging the vehicles out and pushing, than riding in them. All the time the sound of gunfire becomes louder the nearer we advance towards the action.
To top it all the weather has taken a turn for the worse, it rains continuously for a day and a night. What should have been a trip of twenty hours extends into days. On the first night we huddle in the vehicle amongst the spare petrol drums trying to keep warm. There is no way we can light a fire, our rations consist of bully beef, hard tack biscuits, and chocolate. The driver has a few bottles of rum concealed and thank goodness is sharing them with us. Mercifully, this helps to drive the damp and cold out of our cramped bodies.
The driver seems a decent enough guy, but never fails to let us know his regiment is far superior to ours, and he himself a regular specialist soldier. He has this annoying habit of blowing his horn whe
never the opportunity arises. Billy reckons this is because he is always blowing his own trumpet. After we have a good laugh at this remark, we decide to nickname him Toot. Strangely, he takes to the name and does not object when we address him in such a way.
Chapter two
The abandoned farm
On the second night, more by luck than judgement we come across a farmhouse. We have evidently taken a wrong turn and left the main highway, although the driver will not admit it. The buildings are still intact with no sign of the inhabitants. It appears as though the war has passed this fortunate place by. Luckily we are able to drive the vehicle under cover directly into a barn. Most of the farm animals have gone except for a few hens scratching about. Oh! Fantastic! There is deep hay and a chance to dry our clothes and stretch our cramped limbs. Somewhere along the way we have lost touch with our companion ambulance. He had been trailing us successfully until sometime in the heavy rain we lost contact. Strangely, we have not encountered any other allied troops, or vehicles for the last few hours moving our way, although we could make out lots of soldiers going in the opposite direction through the blinding rain.
I refrain from remarking on this fact as I assume the Corporal has noticed. Our driver continually assures the NCO that he knows exactly where we are as he has travelled this way many times delivering vehicles. In the barn the Corporal allocates tasks for the troop, Billy and I are instructed to seek some food and find somewhere to light a fire.
“We don’t want to upset the Frenchie’s by causing any damage or stealing any of their valuables.” He cautions us. Obviously, to light a fire in the barn would be too risky as everything is as dry as tinder. Billy decides to explore the farmhouse I reluctantly follow him, a feeling of intrusion nags at me as we enter. Billy assures me that in times of war everything is permissible to sustain the troops. I don’t know where he picked that piece of information up from but I assume he is more knowledgeable than me and don’t argue with him. He pushes against an outside door which swings inward. Hesitantly we enter an enormous surprisingly clean kitchen. The bare cupboard doors hang open, evidence of them being hurriedly cleared of all the contents,