Angels at Mons

by Carl Leckey

  We beam with pride as he compliments us. It is not mentioned that our discovery was a mistake due to a wrong turning in heavy rain.

  The Colonel continues with more praise. “I am very pleased with your progress and conduct under stressful conditions so far. Tomorrow we get down to the real work in earnest. I have told the Sergeant and Corporal how pleased I am with you. They have suggested after the 1500hrs pay and general parade, you are to take the rest of the day off to settle down and get to know the area. OK chaps carry on.”

  The Colonel strides away and we relax basking in the glory of his praise.

  The Scots lads arrive and form lines for their food as Toot returns to his ambulance and we head for out tents. Thanks to Toots advice we have chosen ourselves the plum tent. We did this prior to the rest of the permanent staff arriving.

  The Corporal is ensconced in his tent fast asleep he doesn’t stir when I peep inside. The poor guy must be exhausted looking after a load of green- horns for the last few days.

  At about 1400hrs the other ambulance arrives accompanied by a couple of transport wagons and squads of soldiers. I wake the Corporal he comes to our tent and orders us to dig slit trenches by our tents in case the shelling comes our way, the gunfire seems even more intense and continuous and sounds much closer to the station. When I ask him about it the Corporal assures us that is because the wind has changed direction.

  We complete the trenches in record time even digging one for the Sergeant and Corporal without being ordered.

  The rest of our lads arrive at the tent line led by the Sergeant, he is satisfied with the trench we have selected for him and gives us a grateful smile when we explain the reason for the trench.

  “Hope I never have to use it lads, but thanks all the same.”

  There are still about twenty empty tents left after our lads take possession of theirs, I wonder who will be the inhabitants of these? I have this secret fantasy of nurses being our neighbours after Billy put the idea in my mind.

  The Scots lads form columns of three and begin marching away accompanied by much shouting from Black Mac and wailing of bagpipes.

  As we stand on a slight hill at the edge of the trees watching their departure Toot remarks, “I wonder how many of those poor buggers will be alive this time tomorrow? I suppose we will be seeing some of them again, but not marching poor sods.”

  I shudder as the significance as his morbid remark strikes home, even their cooks pack up the field kitchen gear on wagons and leave. The area seems very quite after their departure except for the incessant gunfire.

  At 1600hrs we parade in the farmyard, the Colonel attends, the Sergeant conducts the parade the Corporal joins our ranks facing them. We now have ten general duty men from the Labour Corp. Five ambulance drivers from transport consisting of three handlers for the horse drawn carts, and two for the motorised ambulances. Four others from a transport outfit, consisting of fitters and mechanics plus ten soldiers from a regiment I do not recognise.

  Four Officers join us but stand at a distance away from the main parade. Billy whispers through the side of his mouth. “They are RAMC surgeons.”

  When we have been brought to attention and smartened up, the ranks are ordered to ground arms by the Sergeant. The Colonel then addresses the parade.

  Chapter six

  Our future roll in the war

  “Men you have been unofficially told by your NCO’s why we are here. I now confirm that you are to be members of the permanent staff of this casualty clearing station. All of your weapons, rifles, pistols, bayonets, and ammunition will be handed in to the Sergeant at the stable after this parade.

  Nobody! I repeat nobody will be permitted to carry weapons of any kind inside the designated bounds of this station. The MPs guarding the perimeter will disarm any casualties arriving with arms.

  Your NCO’s will allot your individual duties. I hope that although this will be a place of pain and misery for the casualties, we will endeavour to make their lot a bit happier by being cheerful and caring while they are in our charge.

  This is a front line Hmmm hospital, and the patients will spend as little time as possible here. Our job will be to get them ready for transport and far away from the action as soon as we are able. I intend with your help, to make their stay with us as comfortable as we can under the circumstances. I know you won’t let me down. Right men, I won’t take any more of your time I know you must be exhausted and require sleep rather than long speeches from me. That’s all I have to say. I am available to all of you any time if you have any problems, good luck men and pray this war be over soon.”

  The Sergeant orders us to attention. He salutes the Colonel who promptly leaves the parade area. We retrieve our rifles and after ordering us to be at the stable in ten minutes time, he dismisses the parade.

  As we begin leaving the parade area, a Staff car arrives at the farmhouse. A uniformed figure dismounts from the passenger seat and orders the driver to bring in his bags there is a considerable amount stacked on the luggage rack.

  The driver struggles as he tries to manage the load on his own and the Officer does not attempt to help the driver he only orders him to hurry up and stop fumbling about, then he turns on his heel and disappears inside.

  I run over to assist the driver and offer to help him carry some of the bags, he declines my help. “If the bloody swine sees I can’t manage he’ll give me hell.” he whispers.

  “Who is he then?” I enquire.

  “Captain Thomas De Silva, bloody Padre, he thinks he’s God almighty, comes here now and again to give the last rites to some poor bastards, he’s not too pleased about coming so close to the front I can tell you. I’d like to give him his last rites the lousy shit.”

  A voice roars from inside. “Wilkinson you idle fellow, where are my bags you lazy excuse for a man?” The driver grabs as many bags as he can manage and staggers towards the house. I make my way from the horrible person at speed.

  When we assemble at the stable block Billy is not at all pleased about being disarmed. “I joined the bloody Army to fight, not play bloody nurse maid to cripples,” He has moans all the way to the stable. I try to ignore him my own mind is occupied wondering what task I will be allocated.

  I didn’t mention to my mates that I am relieved to be losing my rifle for fear of them scorning me. I consider the blooming thing a nuisance having to carry it everywhere I go, even to the latrines.

  The constant cleaning and inspections are a bind and divert me from real work as I see it. The truth is, although I have joined the Army to see some action I have no desire to shoot anyone let alone bayonet them. Yes, I’m glad to see the back of it I persuade myself as we arrive at the stable.

  The Colonel sits outside the door at a desk with the Corporal by his side.

  One by one we march to the desk as our names are called, we salute, repeat our names and numbers and receive our pay then give another salute followed by an affirmation. “Pay and pay book correct Sir.” We give another smart salute, followed by an about turn and we march away.

  The usual complicated routine for collecting the pittance the Army rewards us with for risking life and limb.

  The Sergeant stands inside the stable with the half door closed, as I pass over my weapons he hands me some mail. “It’s just arrived on the last transport, nice to have a letter from blighty eh! Lad.”

  “Yes Sergeant.” I agree but I know my inability to read is a problem.

  The Sergeant asks me. “Remind me what did you do in civvy street lad for a living?”

  “I was a ‘Street cleaner for the Corporation Sergeant.”

  “Right lad! That will be your job while we are here also. You will be responsible for generally cleaning up the tent line and camp area, latrines, and the burning and disposal of rubbish.

  It will include disposing of the bits and pieces from the operating er, theatre including the medical tents. At 0600hrs tomorrow be at the barn and report to me. OK?”

 
I thank the Sergeant and stand aside to let Billy take my place.

  Of course Billy isn’t happy about surrendering his weapons and respectively says so. The Sergeant assures him it is the right thing to do.

  “Weapons and hospitals don’t go together you see lad. If the Germans did push forward we will have no choice but to stay with the wounded. There is no way we can make a fight of it, understand?” Billy agrees in a half-hearted manner.

  “The Colonel is right lad, take my word for it, now down to business what was your civvy job soldier?”

  Billy answers in a hushed voice difficult to hear. “I was a blood boy at the slaughterhouse Sergeant.”

  The Sergeant leans forward until he is half out of the doorway.

  “You’ll have to speak up lad, it’s hard to hear, what with them big guns a thundering.”

  Billy repeats his occupation.

  “Good.” The Sergeant congratulates him. “You’re just the type of man we are looking for, used to blood and guts are you then lad?”

  Billy’s expression changes as the Sergeant utters this statement he considered praise, Billy enthusiastically responds with.

  “Yes nowt bothers this lad Sergeant, seen it all I have. They even butchered an elephant once for a circus when I worked in an abattoir, fed the poor bugger to the lions. Isn’t very nice to eat you see Sarg, bit tough meat is elephant.” Once Billy started on this subject it is hard to stop him.

  The Sergeant holds up his hand to control Billy’s enthusiastic out pouring. Smiling he informs my mate “Right, you shall work with the Corporal inside the operating theatre, should be right up your street eh lad? Report to him at 0600 hrs in the morning go directly to the operating theatre do not parade here when the bugle sounds.”

  Billy left the queue slightly bewildered not sure if the position he has been allotted is a privileged one or not. The manner the Sergeant described it to him Billy is sure he will be doing the top job amongst the general duty men. Billy being Billy he interprets it that way, I knew he would no matter what task he is to undertake.

  After hearing where he is going to work I congratulate myself on the duties I have been given. There is no way I want to witness operations, the very thought of it makes me shudder.

  We reach the tent line and laze about on the grass soaking up the afternoon sun, bliss perfect bliss. Dave describes it as his idea of heaven

  “A belly full of good tucker, decent NCO’s and nothing to do but lounge about yarning.” One after another the remainder of the lads arrive and join us on the grass.

  The letters I have received burn a hole in my pocket but I know none of my mates are able to read. I wonder who they are from but I have to hold back impatiently until I can find someone willing to read them to me.

  When we compare tasks as I guessed he would, Billy boasts of his very important job as an operating theatre attendant.

  The other lads have been assigned as batmen to the Surgeons and the Colonel. These jobs seem to please them as they don’t need to have contact with the gorier side of hospital life.

  A couple of the transport drivers have drawn the short straw in our opinion. Their dangerous task is to take horse drawn ambulances and stretcher-bearers to the front line for the collection of casualties.

  Chapter seven

  The arrival of the conchies

  As we sit about chatting, moaning, complaining of our lot, the soldiers that paraded earlier appear and stand around by the tents as if unsure of what to do next.

  The Sergeant arrives and allocates them the spare tents. I ask one of the regular wagon drivers standing by us.

  “Who are they? They don’t seem to have any regimental flashes or anything to identify them?”

  “Did you notice they have no rifles on parade either, strange that eh?” Dave points out. The driver Fred contemptuously spits in their direction. “Shit lads, you don’t want anything to do with them yella bastards, they are conchies. Pity they put them in tents so close to us I say.”

  He utters this information in a loud voice, evidently wanting the other men to hear his opinion of them.

  I personally have not heard the term before and am at a loss to understand why he has such disdain for the men. After all they are not HQ wallers the type all soldiers usually holds in contempt, and after all these men have been posted very close to the front line.

  When the Sergeant has shown the men to their tents he comes over and speaks to us.

  “I want you lads to hear what I have to say about the new comers that have just joined us.

  Yes, they are conscientious objectors. Yes they do object to war killing and fighting, but these men nevertheless have guts believe me. Would you lot have the nerve to take on the whole state for your beliefs?”

  Slightly taken aback by his unusual attitude, none of the lads answer.

  “No I didn’t think so, well these men did. But rather than serve their time safely in jail they have volunteered to be stretcher-bearers.

  Stretcher-bearers, who have volunteered to save us poor fools that did not have the guts to object to this damnable war.

  The Corporal the Colonel and myself have a lot to thank these lads for, without their aid we would have all been long dead. The Colonel has specifically requested these men to be drafted to his unit. For your information he admires them for the stance they have taken against war and the firm beliefs they hold. Although he is a highly decorated soldier that has proved himself in combat he welcomes these none combatants into this station.

  So my lads I want to see you treat them with respect. I know for a fact that some of them have seen more action and bloodshed than many a man sees in a lifetime of soldiering.

  Although they are classed as None Combatants, that does not mean they are cowards, in fact they very brave men. Think on what I have told you, I want no more snide remarks directed at them. It may be your turn next to depend on these men to save your miserable skins sooner than you think.”

  This is quite a long and passionate speech for the Sergeant and he is very angry he glares at Fred as he makes this last statement. When he finally storms away we sit quietly embarrassed as we absorb the facts.

  0540hrs. A slight frost edges the leaves on the trees I have woken up a few times in the night feeling really cold. The sounds of the battle close at hand kept me awake for a long while but I suppose I will get used to anything eventually. At least I hope so if half the tales Toot tells us about warfare are true, I doubt it though. The first time since joining the Army I note that a thin layer of ice has formed overnight on the puddles. Following the example of the old soldier Toot I ended up in the early hours stretching my great coat and gas cape over my biscuit bed to get warm.

  Winter is rapidly approaching.

  It is still dark as we leave the tents and head for the morning parade stumbling and cursing our way down unfamiliar paths towards the farmyard.

  Dave as always wonders if we will be served breakfast before starting work, he could be in Hell but as long as he is well fed Dave will be happy.

  There have been some disasters in the night, one of the lads have gone to the latrines and fell down the slit trenches in the blackout.

  Another had returned to the wrong tent and tried to get into bed with the Corporal, this resulted in ructions waking everyone in the close proximity of his tent. The Corporal shouted, “Bloody Hell! They even want me to cuddle them at night as well as nursemaid them all day.” Luckily he saw the funny side of it and promised more lanterns for tomorrow night.

  Billy, much to my surprise is up and dressed before me for a change I usually have to drag him out of bed. With a brief “Ta, ta,” and a grin he is off to his job in the operating tent without even waiting for breakfast. At least one of us is happy with his lot in life

  We laugh as we describe the night incidents to our other mates greatly embellished of course as is the soldier’s way. Nobody has shaved or washed, still we all carry soap and towels expectantly. I have no problem about shav
ing only a fine fur fussed my chin. The older men stroke their evident beards and moan about the lack of ablutions.

  Oh! Joy. We arrive at the farmyard to be greeted by a mobile bath unit and a row of temporary sinks with a boiler of hot water steaming at the end of the line. We find the bath unit has arrived in the early morning and set up immediately to be ready for the first parade.

  We form ranks and the Corporal calls the assembled soldiers to attention as the Sergeant appears to give us our orders.

  “Right lads you have ten minutes to tart yourselves up and a half hour to eat your breakfast. Work starts at 0715 this only applies for today tomorrow all farting, tarting, and eating will be completed by 0555 ready for starting work at 0600hrs.

  There will be a shift work roster posted for some of you when the casualties arrive. For the lads unable to read you will be informed individually regarding that matter, got that?”

  “Yis Sergeant,” we shout in response.

  “There will be none of the usual parade of a morning except sick parade, and God help any of you that are not dying if you register for sick parade.

  You will report from now on direct to your allotted tasks or until ordered to do otherwise, is that clear?”

  We shout “Yis Sergeant.”

  “To your duties dismiss.”

  That is the one and only morning parade at that unit I attend under that regime, morning parades are over and done with. No inspections, no drill, no bullshit, no more bollickings. The best of all in my opinion there are no more humiliations.

  After a decent breakfast we report for work, the horse drawn ambulances have already left for the front with a contingent of NCC stretcher-bearers riding with them.

  Toot and the other motor driver are sent to help evacuate another field hospital and collect stores from the railhead.