by Carl Leckey
Billy and Dave my closest mates, are upset when I made the decision to move out of our tent. When I reveal Toot will be teaching me to drive, they agree it’s a good move to make. They are both so fed up with the situation at the casualty station they ask me to let them know if there are any more jobs with the transport. On every run I improve my driving skills, Toot even allows me to drive the homeward run with casualties on board, which proves his confidence in my ability. One morning as I refuel, Toot informs me the Sergeant wants to see me right away. When I report to his tent much to my surprise he leads me to the spare lorry, the usual driver Alec has been sent to a rear hospital suffering with suspected appendicitis. “Right” He orders. “Start her up and take me for a drive.”
Excitement grips me as I approach an American FWD General Service Truck, thankfully the same type as Toot’s ambulance. The motor pool lads have rigged up a wood fired boiler to supply hot water for the vehicles cooling systems. Thanks to Toots intensive tuition regarding motor vehicles I know exactly what to do. After checking the engine oil, grease points and finally the petrol tank, I top up with hot water.
The Sergeant appears impressed, and compliments me on my diligence.
Nervously I climb into the cab, check the gear stick is located in neutral and the parking brake is on, before activating the ignition. I set the advance and retard, prime the carb, climb out of the cab and swing the starting handle. What a welcome sound greets me as the engine bursts into life first go.
I drive him around the compound a few times then out onto the lane, dodging other vehicles and marching troops, I circle the area on routes I know well. After about ten minutes on his instructions I return to the pool compound and carefully park the vehicle.
Chapter twenty
Big responsibilities
I apprehensively wait for the Sergeant comments, he nods his approval fills in a report sheet before informing me.
“OK lad you are the reserve driver. I’ll do the paper work and in a week or so you will get a little bit more money at pay parade. You may begin driving right away as we are short of drivers, records will confirm your position in writing later. Now understand this if Alec returns you will be on reserve again?”
When I laugh he gives me an odd look until I explain.
“We haven’t had a pay parade for nearly six weeks Sarg.”
“Good God.” He replies with amazement. “I’ll sort this out lad, go and get on with your work now.”
As there are no second men to spare I do the lone short runs to the railhead for supplies in the truck. I still continue as Toots second man on the ambulance when required.
The easy runs to the front line abruptly end as the mud covered worn out roads freeze solid. The ground is covered in a dusting of snow on one particular morning when we turn out. Before we set off we don every available piece of clothing we possess in an effort to keep ourselves warm.
The ambulances have no windscreen or side doors and the icy wind cuts into our faces like a knife. Toot has mooched two pairs of Pilots goggles from a mate in the Flying Corp. Although the protective eye shields are a great help in keeping the wind born dust out of our eyes, they are inclined to mist up blurring our vision.
On the second run of the day we observe a German aeroplane circling overhead. Sam in his ambulance is returning from the pickup point with a full load of casualties when we stop for the usual chat.
He cautions Toot. “That bleeder has been circling this area since day break. I think the bleeder is spotting. He hasn’t bombed or strafed us yet but watch yourself Toot, he’s a nosy bleeder alright.”
“Tell you what Sam.” Toot answers. “You tell the Sarg when you get back to the post see if they can get one of our fly boys to sort him out.”
Sam agrees and drives off.
At the pick up when we arrive there is an ambulance from another dressing station loading casualties.
Toot exclaims. “Jeez! It must have been a busy night, look at this lot?”
A line of wounded lie on the grass in the shelter of the church wall and more bearers are arriving with even more casualties.
The other ambulance has completed loading and is already started to move off when the scream of an incoming shell rents the air.
An enormous explosion blows the last of the church to smithereens.
After a moment’s pause a second shell explodes nearby. Toot drags the wheel of our ambulance over and accelerates while driving like a maniac he shouts. “They are ranging shots the buggers are homing their artillery in on us, Scouse we better get out of here at the double.”
We have just made it to the sunken road when the third shell lands a short distance away. The blast hits the ambulance and blows it over onto the right hand side, showers of debris cascade down upon us. We are both unhurt but Toot has rolled on top of me and I am more or less laying half out of the cab on the mud covered road. As we struggle to climb out of the cab another three shells explode nearby. Christ almighty, I had no idea it would be like this, my whole body shakes uncontrollably.
The motor has stopped running and a strong smell of petrol pervades the cab. After a great deal of grunting and swearing Toot finally climbs out of the vehicle and reaches inside to help me. Mercifully we haven’t loaded any casualties only the usual hot food and tea are located in the rear.
As we climb down from the overturned ambulance we become aware of the screams of pain. Of the other vehicle there is no sign, a huge crater now occupies the road where we last saw the loaded ambulance.
Another shell lands and explodes with a huge crash a bit further away towards the far side of the graveyard. Pieces of concrete and gravestones rain down well away from us even so we do feel the blast.
I slump back against the top of the ambulance with my trembling hands pressed alongside me. The material feels wet and sticky, I look at my hands in horror; they are covered in blood and pieces of flesh.
God! So this is the reality of war, runs through my stupefied brain. I stand as if in a trance until I hear Toots voice coming through to me.
“For Jesus sake Scouse wake up you daft sod, get yourself over here right now. We are going to try and make it to the reserve trenches.”
I run as fast as my wobbly legs can carry me. Another shell lands in the graveyard as I make it to the protection of the surrounding wall. The stretcher-bearers and casualties lie in a huddled heap against the side of a large mausoleum.
Toot examines them and shakes his head in dismay. “All bloody dead poor buggers, it must have been the blast that got em.”
I try to clear my head and think logically. At last it comes to me.
“Toot I definitely heard screaming after the blast, someone was still alive we best check around.”
We wait for a while until we are sure the bombardment has ceased then begin explore the area on our hands and knees making sure we keep below the cover of the wall.
“I wish we could contact the station and warn the other lads about this shit.” Toot stops speaking in mid sentence.
He silently points to the branches of a large tree. “Good God.” He blurts out in an astounded voice.
“This bloody war gets even worse when you think it can’t.”
Hanging on the tree like ripe fruit are pieces of soldiers and bits of equipment. Legs, arms, torso’s intestines, the remains of casualties the other ambulance had left for us to pick up hang like Christmas decorations. The dripping blood forms pools on the scorched grass as it drips down from the unlikely fruit of the tree.
Too much! I have seen too much for any man to bear in one day. I throw up violently until the only thing left to wrench is my stomach acid that burns my throat.
When I look up again Toot points to one of the lower branches, He’d waits until I have finished wrenching before shouting,
“I think this is where the screaming came from.”
I can’t help myself as my eyes are drawn to the scene as if by magnet.
The complete body
of a NCC man hangs speared onto the tree by a branch that has penetrated through his chest. The most appalling thing emphasising the total horror of the scene is that the end of the branch still has leaves attached.
Toot exclaims. “Jeez, this beats them all it’s the blast you know? Funny thing is blast it misses one fella and gets the next one to him. I’ve never seen anything like this before though.”
Toot is surely battle hardened to be able to examine the carnage without showing any emotion. I can’t help wondering if I will ever be able to act this way.
Another shell lands on the far side of the church remains.
“Come on Scouse time to go.” Toot orders. “We’ll be safer in the trenches than here, maybe we can contact our base and warn them this is definitely not a safe pick up point anymore.”
“Bloody Hell Toot would you look at that?” I point towards the battered graveyard, just before I slide into the first partially destroyed trench something catches my eye, the smoke and dust of the explosion have barely cleared to reveal an amazing sight.
The only object remaining intact amongst the wreckage of burst coffins skeletons and shattered gravestones there stands a beautiful marble Angel. Toot takes a quick peek. “You’re a lucky sod Scouse must be your guardian Angel that saved you eh?”
Toot and I rest for a while until my mate decides there is not enough cover from shellfire where we are. We make it to the cover of a undamaged trench by crawling through shit and mud on our bellies. After what seems to be hours of terror we gratefully drop into a slot in the ground as another enemy bombardment begins.
Thank goodness I have Toot an experienced soldier to advise me when to crawl, when to stop, and finally when to make a run for it.
Chapter twenty-one
The front line
As we move forward in the communication trench we come across four exhausted stretcher-bearers carrying two casualties, Toot warns them that the pickup point is now dangerous as the Huns are targeting it. The leading one shrugs his shoulders and replies.
“We have nowhere else to go, got to take em somewhere.” One of the others remarks in a dull voice. “We were supposed to get fed on this trip. We haven’t had a decent hot meal for three days.”
I can’t bring myself to tell them all their mates are dead, instead I inform them. “Look lads, we have left an overturned ambulance by the pickup point. There is hot food and tea in the back if it hasn’t been spilled by the blast.”
With hardly enough room they squeeze passed with our help. They only make it after a struggle by raising the stretchers over our heads. The ashen faced casualties moan in pain at every bump of the stretcher for some reason the enemy snipers spare them.
The mud has not frozen in the bottom of the trench and in some places reaches nearly up to my calf. This is a sticky clinging mud that makes every step an effort.
We have no weapons or equipment our gas masks are in the abandoned ambulance. In our hurry to get away from the enemies accurate shelling we have left a vital piece of equipment, our gas masks. This is considered a cardinal sin by the Army as to be without one in a war zone could be a matter of life or death. Thank goodness there is no one in authority about to report our misdemeanour. Fortunately we had donned lots of spare clothing when we set out first thing this morning, the temperature is dropping by the minute winter is upon us with a vengeance.
After a ten minutes pause another bombardment begins, shells whistle overhead some making different sounds than others. The most frightening sounds like an iron wheeled cart clattering over cobblestones, when the shells land it’s as if an earthquake is taking place.
We are still progressing towards the front line in an attempt to make contact with some of our lads. We encounter a sharp corner this is part of the zigzag formation of the trench. We are about to turn around the corner when a terrific blast knocks us both flat. I finish up flopped in the mud against the trench wall with Toot sitting on my knee. I don’t know whether it is nerves or relief but the humour of our position strikes us both at the same time.
Toot jokes. “I see you are in the shit again eh Scouse?”
We begin laughing hysterically until another explosion close behind sobers us up instantly. After a great deal of floundering and a push from me, my mate makes it to his feet, when he has satisfied himself I am uninjured Toot moves forward to check the trench.
I try to stand up but find difficulty in breaking the suction of the mud adhering to my great coat.
I reach for a root I see hanging just beyond grasping distance. After struggling to get closer I gratefully catch hold to drag myself up. Bloody Hell, will this night mare never end? The next thing that happens is the whole side of the trench collapses inward half burying me. Horror of horrors, when I identify the root I have grasped it is the arm of a buried German soldier.
Toot returns from his scouting trip and quickly digs me out, when we investigate further we find German Corpses supporting the whole side of the trench. Unperturbed Toot remarks as he removes an Iron Cross from one of the bodies and slips it into his pocket.
“This must have happened when the Hun held this line. The trench is blocked ahead I’ll nip along and try and find out what’s happening behind us. By the way that’s a joke Scouse.” He left me bemused. I had no idea what he was on about. Toot toils his way back in the direction of British held territory. Meanwhile I lean against the solid wall my whole body aching and completely filthy with mud and other indescribable odds and sods.
My rear end is soggy with mud at least I think it is mud until I realise some of the. No, no. Please not that. The shame of it, I have shit my pants as the Sergeant predicted I would do. There is nothing I am able to do about it and I have to live with my horror.
Toot returns and informs me with disgust. “It’s completely blocked. Jeez this place stinks. Tell you what Scouse we either wait here until they clear the trench or we go over the top and make a run for the forward positions.”
I suggest. “Our best bet is wait right here until night time surely?” I don’t fancy making a run for it with my pants full of shit. Toot thinks on the situation for a while until he points out. “Sounds a good idea staying here, but what if the Huns give us a dose of gas, don’t forget we haven’t got any masks. Another thing we need to do is let the station know about the pickup point. We’ve already lost two ambulances and God knows how many of the stretcher bearers have been killed.”
I trudge up the trench in pretence of getting away from the German Corpses, but the truth is I am embarrassed about my shitty pants.
Toot picks up a piece of splintered timber and placing a battered steel helmet on the end he pushes it above the parapet and waves it about. Nothing happens for a few seconds then bang the helmet flies from the stick hits the far side of the trench then drops into the mud on the bottom. There is a neat hole drilled through the centre when Toot recovers it.
“Star shots those Hun snipers they must be closer than I thought.” Toot says admiringly. “We may as well make ourselves comfortable as we can until it goes dark, we wouldn’t last a minute out there.”
We root around for something to sit on and clear a space for ourselves among the mud and filth. The Germans still lob an occasional shell over to keep us on our toes, Apart from the explosions and the sound of an occasional snipers rifle it is all quiet on the front.
With a bit of ingenuity we construct make shift benches out of sheet metal and bits of wood, not very comfortable seats but at least we can now at least sit. By piling the half frozen Corpses one on top of each other we manage to get our feet clear of the filthy mud, I couldn’t have done this on my own. Although I fancy myself as a hardened soldier the idea of using dead bodies as a carpet would not have occurred to me. Settling down as comfortable as possible with hunger, thirst and cold plaguing our bodies we wait impatiently for sundown. I muse aloud.
“I wonder how those stretcher bearers got on back at the ambulance. I bet the lucky buggers are stuck into that b
loody stew?”
Toot gives me some humane information about this war.
“The poor buggers are not so lucky on this front, the last one I served on they had a Cross Flag arrangement. It works like this. Both sides make a mutual agreement that they wouldn’t fire on stretcher-bearers or burial details at certain times. When you think of it makes sense, in mid- summer the smell of the rotting corpses and the sight of the rats eating the poor sods is horrible.” As I digest this latest piece of information a sudden thought strikes me. “Toot what is the date?” After thinking for a moment he informs me. “Twenty second December 1917. Christmas is near upon us, the season of good cheer for all men. Maybe that’s what the bloody Hun is lobbing at us Christmas presents.” He sniggers at his own joke. I glumly reveal. “Well I never thought I would be spending my seventeenth birthday in a stinking trench somewhere in bloody France with my pants full of shit.” Toot laughs. “I knew you had filled your drawers I did it myself first time I came under fire its nowt to worry about lad. So it’s your birthday eh? Happy birthday Scouse, don’t think much of your party guests though.” He touches one of the Corpses with his boot, despite our situation we have to laugh.
After about an hour I begin to doze on and off for some reason Denise dominate my fleeting dreams. I haven’t thought of her for a while. Reaching into my pocket I touch her envelope tucked close to my heart, at least a part of her is with me on my birthday.
Our big guns thunder the start of a massive bombardment. In between volleys I hear an unusual noise I can’t identify.
Chapter twenty-two
Tanks
I am loath to wake Toot, who despite his surroundings appears to be sleeping peacefully. I hesitate for a while until the strange noises are virtually upon us. I can wait no longer and wake my mate. He is alert instantly we both listen as the noise comes even closer, the sound of clanking and the roar of heavy engines dominate the area.