Angels at Mons

by Carl Leckey

  The Officer drew his attention to the large clock on the mantelpiece. “Hum. Eight-fifteen?”

  “Then my watch is right? What time is reveille for the Officers?”

  “It’s the same for all ranks Sir, six o’clock.”

  “That is odd.” The civilian replies. “I am led to believe the mess finishes serving at eight o’clock. Don’t your colleagues bother with breakfast then?”

  The duty Officer blushes with embarrassment. “It was the mess night last evening Sir. The chaps have a bit of a lie in Saturdays after mess night, you see. Most of the chaps didn’t get to bed until the early hours?”

  “That applies to everyone then, same reveille?”

  “Yes of course Sir.”

  He gestures towards us. “What about these chaps, they were working until the early hours. They got to bed even later than you chaps after they cleaned up the mess.” To my delight he emphasises the word mess. He questions. “Don’t they have a bit of a lie in after the mess night then?”

  The Officer explains as if to an idiot. “Good God Sir, I wasn’t referring to ordinary men, did you think I meant so? Ha-ha!” The civilian quickly follows up with another question.

  “When I arose this morning to the sound of a bugle I noticed a great deal of activity down in the main camp. Shortly after that I observed the men were being drilled.”

  “That’s right Sir.” The Officer answers proudly. “We keep the chaps on their toes here, no laggards permitted.” The civilian thoughtfully replies. “I see they are drilling the men, it’s a bit like a training camp then eh? Hmm! In the brief I received from the War Department, they described this camp as a rest and recuperation area for soldiers that have served on the frontline?”

  “That’s right Sir, the chaps arrive here tired out and undisciplined but we soon knock em back into shape. When they are ready to go back, they can drill as good as any guardsmen.”

  The politician replies cynically. “Hmm that will certainly help them fight the enemy when they are up to their knees in flooded trenches.”

  The officer evidently did not detect the sarcasm in his tone. He posed another couple of questions while the Officer is still digesting his last remark. “But I would dearly like to know when do the men have some relaxation? I understand even the small town nearby is off limits to other ranks, is that so?” The Officer pondered on this for a moment then grasps the implication of the question.

  “Good God Sir! Are you suggesting that the other ranks and Officers should share the same facilities?”

  The civilian did not reply immediately, he did however make another note in his book.

  Abruptly he asked another question.

  “Is this your usual posting or are you resting after duties on the front line?”

  “Er, er! I’m permanent Staff Sir. I have never had the good fortune to see any action yet, although I would dearly like to get to the front line to do my bit for King and country. It’s the same for most of the Officers stationed here. I suppose we are considered indispensable and can’t be released from this important task. It’s no joke having to bring these chaps up to fighting trim I can tell you?”

  The civilian made another note, he then promised the Officer.

  “I’ll see if I can arrange a transfer for you, I am not without influence in high places. It would be a pity if you miss the opportunity to take part in actual combat. After all, this is what you chaps join the Army for eh? Maybe I can do the same for your colleagues, let them know I’ll do my best to rectify the situation. Thank you for your co-operation and the information.” The Officer withdrew ashen faced.

  At eight thirty the Officers begin drifting in, the French Staff come on duty and Sandy and I exited the dining area.

  The cook Sergeant orders us into the vegetable preparation room.

  The civilian followed out of the waiter’s door, catching up with us in the corridor as we are about to enter the room.

  “I would still like to have that chat with you fellows if you don’t mind?” He requests. Sandy told him where we would be working if he cared to meet us in the vegetable room.

  He replies. “I’ll join you chaps in a short while I have to see someone first.”

  I ask Sandy when he’s gone. “Do you think we should be talking to a politician, my mates in the Corporation reckon they are all the same, only out for themselves.”

  “You are right there Scouse, but there are one or two honourable men in parliament. Take this one for instance. He is a member of a pretty new party. Their remit is to be improving the lot of the workers.”

  “That’ll be good if it’s true, something needs doing.” I respond enthusiastically.

  Sandy points out. “They haven’t been going long enough to make much difference, they were only formed in1900. I am unable make judgement on how good they are yet. Do you take much interest in politics then Scouse?”

  “Don’t know much about it really, most probably because I can’t read and things like that.”

  “Tell you what Scouse, while we are together you may ask me anything you like about politics, I’ll try and educate you regarding the matter, when your time comes to vote, at least you will have some idea who you are voting for alright?”

  I eagerly agree. More and more I become aware, my lack of education is causing me big problems.

  Chapter sixteen

  Disclosure

  Our first task confronting us when we enter the room is an enormous mound of potatoes. Sandy and I sit on stools and begin peeling. About five minutes later the civilian enters the room, weighs up the situation, finds a knife, pulls up a stool, and joins us peeling spuds.

  We are gob smacked, and it must have shown on our faces.

  He laughs. “I’ve peeled a few tons of these in my time in the Army. I served my time mostly as a private soldier you know?”

  Sandy asks him when he was a soldier. “I was in the two Boer wars. It was rough we suffered as much from the heat and disease as from the enemy.” He repeats scornfully “Enemy! The boar farmers were only fighting to retain their chosen way of life. The British soldier was fighting for gold, big business, hungry land grabbers. We were not killing men women and children for anything honourable in my opinion.” He taps his right leg with the knife, it gave a tinny thud. “A piece of me is still kicking around Mafeking.” He smiles when he discloses this fact. He follows his little joke with an urgent request. “You are going back to your unit Sunday I believe?” We agree.

  “I would like to return with you. I have recorded all the information I need from this despicable place.”

  This is beyond me, a Member of Parliament asking our permission to accompany us back to our unit. Sandy responds doubtfully to his plea. “That is a bit complicated Sir. One, we couldn’t possibly give you permission. Two I have been asked to stay on here as an interpreter. I don’t know what to do, I am reluctant to leave my good mates at the casualty station, but I’ve been wounded twice already. I have a feeling my run of luck is just about at an end. I’m the last survivor of a group of ten NCC lads that arrived at the front together. Three of them are cripples for life poor fellows, one is completely blinded, three are classed as missing in action, They are almost certainly dead according to witnesses, but for some reason the Army won’t have it. The dead are the luckier ones and there are another two who are missing without trace. I don’t think the odds of me getting through the rest of this madness relatively unscathed are very good do you?”

  The civilian shakes his head. Sandy continues relating his story.

  “You see as soon as I am declared A1 again by the medics I am to be returned to the front line as a stretcher-bearer. You must have noticed I am a consciences objector Sir?”

  “I am proud to inform you, I am one of the founding members of the None-Conscription Fellowship. An organisation I am sure you and your colleagues will not approve of. I don’t believe in war or killing, but I do believe in helping my fellow man. That’s the reason I am here tak
ing part in this awful war.”

  The MP replies. “I have noted the points you make. You should not make the mistake of assuming I do not admire you chaps that have the guts to stand up for your principles. I also recognised the fact that you have served in the front line, unlike most of the permanent staff in this establishment.” Sandy obviously encouraged by his sympathetic response, gives him a few more insights into our lives at the casualty station.

  “Scouse here and his mates took an enemy prisoner a while ago, I’m sure I know him. If it is he, then the man lectured on pacifism in England, and in his own country before the war. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to confirm this, he was still at the station when we left, working as an interpreter in the POW section.

  During his time with our lad here, he told Scouse that the German policy is, for every member of their Army to serve a term at the front line regardless of rank or privilege position. I wouldn’t mind seeing that policy applied to some of these skiving bastards based at this place.”

  More writing by our friend in his note book, he says as he writes.

  “I would certainly appreciate the opportunity to meet that German chap myself.”

  The MP turns to me. “What about you? Scouse, isn’t it? Do you mind me calling you that lad?” I shrug my agreement. In fact I feel pretty chuffed he uses my nickname.

  “What’s your story, I would like to hear how a fellow of your age happens to be here taking part in this madness?”

  “Well, take it from me, I’m definitely going back to my unit, there is no question of me staying here, waiting hand and foot on this lot. I like the casualty station it’s a bit like home to me, and my mates are my family I don’t suppose you will understand, but I spent my younger days in an orphanage, maybe that explains my feelings. Another thing is, we are fortunate to have a good Officer and NCO’s. The only one thing I don’t like about the place is the bloody Military Police stationed by us. You know they have just shot a sixteen-year-old mate of mine?”

  Sandy intercedes. “I’m not excusing their behaviour, but you know Scouse it most probably wasn’t the MPs that shot your mate. I explained to you, the firing squad is usually made up from the lad’s own regiment.”

  “I know that Sandy, but it doesn’t excuse the way they called his body a piece of dirt. You heard them the lousy shits could have made his last few days on earth a bit more humane at least. It makes no sense to me I still don’t know how could they do that to Tommy, his own bloody side.”

  I fill up with tears as the memories of that awful day return when I relate the facts to the MP. I find I can’t continue as sorrow and anger engulf me.

  The MP reaches over and squeezes my shoulder sympathetically.

  Eventually I begin to explain what we are doing at the Chateau.

  “That’s why our Colonel sent us here as a matter of fact, because we had to bury Tommy. Bet our Colonel doesn’t know what’s goes on here? The poor fellows drilling down there have been fighting at the front line and they are transferred here looking forward to some rest and leave. What do they get? Bloody training by bastards who have never seen any action, it really pisses me off I beg your pardon Sir.”

  I stop talking, blush, and apologise. “Sorry about that Sir, but it just makes me so mad.”

  “You have a right to be angry my boy. A sixteen year old doing a man’s job, I take it you are about sixteen?” I nod.

  “You lied about your age to enrol? I did the same thing myself in the last one, the big adventure eh lad?” I agree miserably.

  “You won’t tell on me Sir, will you? I don’t want to leave my mates and go back to England.”

  “Don’t worry my boy your secret is safe with me. What I will do however, is to try and dissuade others from doing what we did. I will certainly make sure that the officials tighten up on the recruitment procedure, is that fair?”

  “That suits me Sir.”

  “That’s the reason why I want to go with you to get facts about this bloody war. Hard, indisputable facts, I will be delivering to parliament, there are things I need to witness first hand. I’m not a stranger to war you know? But I have to say the manner this war is being conducted up to now, appals me.”

  “Surely as an MP you may go anywhere you decide without permission?” Sandy asks. The civilian replies.

  “The group I am lumbered with are being led by the nose, by people whose future depends on covering up the situation over here, it’s not for me I’m afraid.”

  Sandy informs him of the arrangements for our return to base.

  “We pick up a transport wagon at the end of the road at four o’clock Sunday afternoon. Whether you go with us or not is irrelevant. I don’t suppose the driver will care who rides with him anyway. But what happens if you go missing from here without letting them know, what about the Military Police guarding the gate to this place, not forgetting the entrance to our station?”

  I chip in. “Surely there will be a hue and cry even if you get passed the MPs?” The civilian answers with a smile on his face.

  “That will be my problem I have a bit of experience at dodging MPs. Ha, ha. Being an MP myself it helps.”

  I find myself liking this man with his quirky sense of humour and his interest in the underdog.

  We finish the spuds and wait for the cook Sergeant to give us another task. He smiles again. “Let’s not volunteer eh lads? A little trick I picked up when I did my bit in the Army.” I saw the humour in his last remark when I remember the old sweats advice.

  As the time for me to meet Denise draws near, I become more excited.

  When the sound of voices from the dining room cease I take the opportunity to slip out of the vegetable room to have a peek through the dining room window in case she has made an early appearance.

  The French staff have cleared away and reset the table for lunch it is now about nine thirty. As I crane my neck through the window I detect a noise behind me. When I turn around the hateful Padre is seated at one of the tables reading a newspaper. I quietly close the window and begin heading towards the kitchen, I am within one step of the exit door when he speaks. “A pot of fresh coffee and full breakfast, make sure the damn cooks give me a good portion of kidneys.” The shit gives his order from behind the paper.

  I am flummoxed, and don’t reply for a moment.

  “I mean now, not next week you idiot.” He snarls.

  I nervously inform him. “I am sorry Sir, breakfast is finished.”

  He drops the paper and glares at me, saying only one short word. “Breakfast,” then continues reading his paper.

  “Yes Sir.” I reply and scurry out of the room. I run into the vegetable room and confide my dilemma to the civilian regarding the Padre.

  “I don’t know what to do? The tables are set for lunch, the French waiters have gone off duty, and the chef will go potty.”

  “Come with me.” The civilian invites both Sandy and I. He leads us into the kitchen and speaks a few words in French to the head chef. The cook Sergeant enters the kitchen and glares at the civilian.

  The MP diplomatically addresses him. “Forgive me for entering your territory without permission Sergeant, but I have a query for you.”

  The Sergeant appears pleased with his approach and preens himself.

  “No problem Sir, you are welcome anytime, how can I help you?”

  “What time do you officially finish serving breakfast in the Officers mess?” The Sergeant shuffles his feet slightly embarrassed.

  “Eight o’clock Sir, but it does drag on a bit, especially after mess night.”

  “That’s all right Sergeant I appreciate the position you are in, how do you feel about these extended meal times in the mess?”

  The Sergeant opens up to his tactful questions.

  “To tell you the truth Sir, it’s a damn nuisance it throws all the kitchen routine into chaos. I wish they would either alter the times, or stick to them.”

  “Thank you for your help Sergeant I will see what I
can do about the situation.”

  As we leave the kitchen he asks me. “Do you want to have a bit of fun lad?”

  “That would be a change in this place.” I answer gloomily.

  He instructs me. “Go and inform that moron that you have been advised the serving of breakfast finished at eight o’clock. Be respectful, and don’t answer back. Simply deliver the message and make a hasty retreat, I will do the rest. You should make yourself scarce as well Sandy, ok?”

  Although I agree to take part in the plot, I enter the dining room with trepidation. The Padre hears me approaching, he throws down his paper and picks up his knife and fork expectantly. When no breakfast is delivered his attitude changes rapidly, anger clouds his ugly face.

  Before he has the opportunity to speak, I hurriedly inform him what the civilian has instructed.

  He goes berserk, his chair crashes backwards to the floor as he leaps to his feet. Pushing me aside, he heads determinedly towards the kitchen. I make myself scarce by exiting through another door.

  I find myself in a part of the Chateau I have not visited before. It is a vast entrance hall dominated by a beautiful double curving staircase.

  I wander about looking at the wonderful wall mounted paintings, as I move towards the front doors I am hoping I won’t bump into an Officer. I prick up my ears when I hear female voices chattering in French from somewhere close by.

  My heart misses a beat, could it be Denise? The voices aren’t too clear, making it difficult detect an individual voice. When I hear a doorbell ringing I dive under the stairs just as a liveried flunky comes through another door to answer the bell. So this is where the voices originate from, behind a door located under the stairs. The flunky speaks to someone then closes the front door.

  I push my ear against a wooden panel hoping to identify Denise’s voice. The door swings inward resulting in me falling headlong into a small room, female squeals of terror greet me. I pick myself up wishing the ground would open up and swallow me, there are three girls are in the room.

  They had been seated around the table polishing silver they now leap to their feet with alarm showing on their faces as I crashed in. This quickly changes to one of amusement when they recognise me.