The Plains of Talavera

by Martin McDowell

  “Ah no, they threw us off at a place called Figueira, and we humped it from there to here.”

  As Davey nodded, the Connaught extended his hand.

  “Michael O’Donnell, all the way from Castlebar.”

  Davey took the hand.

  “John Davey. Backhole place near Gloucester. You’ll have heard of neither.”

  Byford was stood near and O’Donnell naming his hometown, jogged a historical memory.

  “Castlebar! There was a bad affair there in ’98.”

  O’Donnell seemed just a little embarrassed by the statement, but he quickly recovered.

  “Ah that! Sure now, we was never part. Way overseas were the Rangers, all of us. None of us even part of the put down that came after.”

  He changed the subject.

  “So what’s this Spain like. Well set, are they, these Spaniards?”

  The implication was obvious, what did they have which could be traded, stolen or even plundered if the chance came? Davey immediately answered.

  “Don’t expect much. They’n as poor as Church mice, mostly, especially after a French army’s gone through. Johnny Frog lives off the land and takes all, includin’ anythin’ what can be carried away. When you think of a French army, remember that. They picks the place clean!”

  O’Donnell was plainly set back by the information, but changed the subject again, perhaps to the one which was his purpose all along.

  “Well, that’s a shame, so it is, but, now, would youse boys be up for a bit of sport, sort of thing?”

  Davey was instantly suspicious.

  “You’ve got something in mind?”

  O’Donnell screwed up his face and swung his head from side to side, as though he had but a vague idea of the answer.

  “Well, if I’m thinkin’ of the sort of happenings back home, what was horse-racin’ an’ what we calls hurling, but there’s neither place nor room for such as that out here.”

  A pause.

  “No. I was thinkin’ perhaps of some kind of wrestlin’, of a type. For a wager, like, just to add some spice, y’see. I’m told you’ve just been paid.”

  Davey folded his arms and sighed. All was revealed.

  “Wrestling! For a wager.”

  O’Donnell brightened considerably. His suggestion had not been rejected outright.

  “You’ve got it! I’m lookin’ at that lad y’have there. Sure, couldn’t he put up some kind of a show? ‘Twould take some lad to get the best of him!”

  Saunders, overhearing all, gave the tree a final push, which sent it crashing to the ground and then handed the axe to Bailey. He walked over to Davey and O’Donnell.

  “So you’m talkin’ about some kind of match. What purse you puttin’ up?”

  O’Donnell was again silenced by the direct questions, but Saunders continued.

  “An’ style? Plain Folk? No punchin’, gougin’, nor head buttin’?”

  Such knowledgeable questions from someone who could very well be a genuine wrestler and an experienced one, caused O’Donnell to pause and think.

  “Plain Folk! That’s the one. And as to purse, well, ‘tis you as’ve just been paid.”

  Saunders looked at him astonished.

  “If you puts up a man to win our money, you matches our purse. You risks what we do! That’s how it is!”

  Now, in silence, both Davey and Saunders stood looking at O’Donnell. The silence spoke the challenge, ‘Take the terms, or walk away’.

  “Am I right in thinkin’ that 'tis youse as’ll be steppin’ up?”

  Both nodded and O’Donnell seemed to think, for a long second, then an ingratiating smile spread across his face, making it Davey’s and Saunders’ turn to feel uneasy.

  “Done!”

  Again the smile.

  “Let’s say three days, back here. Three days to work up our man. An’ you yourself, you’ll want some time to put some agility into those muscles, eh?”

  With that he turned to walk away, but Saunders had not finished.

  “And the purse?”

  O’Donnell stopped and his eyes narrowed.

  “Twenty pounds sounds good!”

  Saunders nodded and so the Connaught Ranger turned and walked away, but not before speaking over his shoulder.

  “Three days, then. This time, back here. Noon.”

  Davey looked up at Saunders.

  “Zeke! What’ve we done?”

  Saunders shrugged.

  “Arranged a wrestling match, is all. B’ain’t no different to the hundred or so others I bin part of.”

  With that he walked back to the felled tree and began lashing branches together until he had a bundle that he swung up onto his shoulders.

  That evening, the shako went around, carried by Tom Miles and John Davey, but the record of contributors was kept by Percy Sedgwicke, who logged the contribution of each man, even though simultaneously thoroughly disapproving of the idea of making wagers. When the £20 was raised, they returned to their messfire and talked tactics, Tom Miles with the first cunning thoughts.

  “Whilst you’re trainin’, we needs to get a look at the man they’re putting up. ‘Tis important, but how’re we goin’ to do that? Anyone tryin’ to get out of our lines and not in uniform will end up on a charge and anyone wearin’ our jacket, with all the green, through theirs, will get theirselves scragged!”

  Jed Deakin drew in a deep breath.

  “I think I knows how it can be done, but first, I needs to see Bert Bryce.”

  At the end of the following morning, Bridie and Nelly Nicholls were ready for their mission, but not before Jed Deakin was thoroughly assured of their knowledge of the 88th Connaught Rangers, as he read from the information written out for him by Lacey’s Sergeant Clerk, Herbert Bryce.

  “Right, now their Colonel is who?”

  Both women answered in unison.

  “Alexander Wallace!”

  “And he’s English?”

  This time Bridie alone answered, annoyed by the trick question.

  “He is not! He’s Irish, as much as I am.”

  Deakin nodded and then continued, again to Bridie’s annoyance.

  “And he’s got black hair.”

  This time Bridie hit him.

  “He has not! ‘Tis ginger, like Nellie’s there.”

  Deakin flexed his now painful arm.

  “And their Senior Major is?”

  “Beatson.”

  “And he is, what?”

  This time in unison.

  “English!”

  Deakin nodded, satisfied.

  “Now, talk to no-one. Just wander about, ‘till you finds someone doin’ what looks like some kind of preparation for a wrestlin’ match.”

  He allowed that to sink in, but it already had, several times the previous evening.

  “An’ when you finds him, just ask if he’s the lad as will be fightin’ in two days time. That’s all!”

  A pause.

  “Get a good look, watch for a minute or so, then come back! Come back, no jawin’ nor chin waggin’ with any old Irish biddy as wants to pass the time of day. Come straight back!”

  There was no reply, simply impatient faces.

  “Right, off you go! An’ keep your scarves close around your heads, like you was shadin’ your eyes from this sun.”

  The two women departed and were soon out of the lines of the 105th and into those of the 88th. All was utterly familiar and similar to what they had just left, the tent lines containing the Followers all going about their domestic chores and their men cleaning and checking their equipment. They wandered around, for some minutes, ten, then twenty, attracting no attention, but seeing nothing that could be in any way connected with wrestling. Then they were approached by a Sergeant, his eyes fixed on Bridie, smiling broadly from a brown face, much decorated by cavalry whiskers. He looked to be mid-forties and his bearing and manner conveyed clearly that he regarded himself, with justification, as being very much ‘one for the ladies’.
Plainly, he had noticed their apparently aimless perambulations, taking it to be promenading for some social reason.

  “Well now ladies, for what reason might you be a walkin’ up and down the lines? Perhaps there’s someone you’re lookin’ for? Someone you’d like to meet? Perhaps I’m your man? Or at least one who can help.”

  Nellie instantly recognised the potential, but it had to be constructed carefully.

  “And why, now, should we both be thinkin’ that? Is it that you have some special powers around here?”

  Whilst listening to Nellie, he had been looking at Bridie, a glint in his eye and a knowing smile on his face. He ignored the question, at least for now.

  “Sidney O”Rourke’s my name.”

  More smiling and eye twinkling in Bridie’s direction.

  “So what might your ladies names be?”

  However, Nellie saw no reason to co-operate, at least not yet.

  “Sure now, isn’t Sidney an odd name for an Irishman?”

  He managed to take his eyes off Bridie.

  “But wasn’t my mother English and her father called Sidney. So I got that from her. But I’m as Irish as you. A true son of Eirann!”

  He struck his chest and bowed.

  “Now, sure, from goodness, I’d like to know who it is I’m talkin’ to.”

  Nellie made the introductions.

  “I’m Nellie and this is Mary.”

  Total concentration on ‘Mary’. He even took her hand.

  “Well now, Mary. ‘Tis overjoyed that I am to meet you.”

  As he stared down at her, Nellie developed her scheme.

  “Sure, now, you might just be the one to cheer her up, some. Sure, now, haven’t I tried.”

  O’Rourke turned to look at Nellie, so she continued.

  “Now wasn’t her man taken by the Provo’s! An’ like to be hanged, for stealin’, almost the day that we landed up in this gombeen place. For a few turnips, was he not? And weren’t they all a pokin’ up through the ground, just askin’ to be picked up!”

  O’Rourke’s face registered the possibilities, suddenly showing thoughtful, rather than merely amorous. Here was a very handsome woman, but a Follower, almost widowed, therefore with no man, in the middle of a foreign campaign. Being single himself, he reasoned, this could work out very well. He looked down at Bridie, his face a picture of concern, still holding her hand.

  “Sure, now Mary, ‘tis very sorry that I am to hear that.”

  Bridie had by now realised the Nellie had some scheme afoot, albeit unknown to her as yet. She quickly adopted her part, looking back up at O’Rourke, in as sorrowful, bereft and forlorn a manner as she could manage.

  “I thank you for that, Sir. For those very comforting words.”

  However, then the conversation took a dangerous turn. O’Rourke was a Sergeant and knew much of the Battalion’s affairs.

  “What was his name?”

  Bridie paused, as if summoning the fortitude to speak his name, but her mind was working furiously. She had noticed the red wings on the shoulders of O’Rourke’s uniform.

  “Connor. Brian Connor.”

  O’Rourke’s brows came together,

  “Connor? We’ve Connors a plenty, but, sure, I can’t recall anyone being taken called Connor.”

  Bridie adopted her best weepie look before replying.

  “Sure now, why would you? He was not a Grenadier, like yourself. He was but a line sodjer.”

  She dreaded the question which could now come, asking for the company number, or even its Captain, but Nellie was intent on moving the scheme forward.

  “Now we was just takin’ a bit of air, what with the tents getting’ so close an’ stiflin’, an’ us now hopin’ to see somethin’ of this wrestlin’ what we hear is afoot. Back home, we never missed a contest, if we could get to it easy, an’ some even if we couldn’t. Now, wouldn’t that be the main reason why we’re both out wanderin’, like.”

  Bridie immediately saw into Nellie’s scheme and looked invitingly up into the face of the Connaught Grenadier.

  “That’s right! Always partial to a bout of wrestlin’, weren’t we both?”

  Her best smile poured into the world of Sergeant Sidney O’Rourke. He had not released Bridie’s hand.

  “Well now, isn’t it so that ye’re right? There is to be a spot of wrestlin’ day after next, Thursday, between one of our lads an’ someone out of that bunch of Heathen Protestants next camp over.”

  More beaming down.

  “Perhaps you’d let me escort you there, ladies, to the match that is, when the time comes. Meanwhile……..”

  He had created a meaningful silence, but it was Nellie who filled it.

  “To be escorted there by you would be an honour indeed, Sir. You can take Mary, here, an I’ll go with my man, Pat Jameson. Same company as Brian, every good luck to him.”

  For O’Rourke this was triumph, but Nellie continued.

  “But, for us, the trainin’ what we saw, back home, that is, was as good as the fight. I used to watch me father, makin’ his moves. Now, wasn’t he a handy lad in the circle.”

  The last two words spoke of enough knowledge to convince O’Rourke, and Bridie was still gazing fondly up at him. Time for O’Rourke to build on what had been done so far.

  “Well, I can’t see the harm in a stroll up into the woods, to take a bit of a look. We keep him up there, away from pryin’ eyes, y’see. Sure, a bit of a surprise before the fight always gives any man a bit of an edge.”

  Both were now bathing him in beaming smiles. He made up his mind.

  “No harm, no harm at all. This way, ladies.”

  He took Bridie’s arm and looped it through his, then he lead them uphill, through two lines of tents, all filled with busy members of the Battalion, then over a short stretch of grass, through some scattered trees, and finally into a clearing. There was already an audience, but O’Rourke, being a Sergeant, made space for them. There, in the centre of the clearing and practicing throws with some Grenadiers, was a figure that looked barely human. He was almost as broad as he was tall, a body shaped like a barrel, no change being discernible for waist, chest, nor shoulders. He was practicing a throw whereby, as his opponent came forward, he would drop to the ground, seize his opponent’s leg, then, using his great strength, which was vital for such a move, lift him, with his shoulder in the groin, to topple him back and then fall on top. That after jumping as high as his bulk would allow. The unfortunate Grenadier was rendered hors de combat for some time, until hauled to his feet by a trainer and then encouraged.

  “Sure, now, Michael, is it all not in a good cause? You’ll be right, soon enough.”

  Bridie gave O’Rourke’s arm a tug, whilst speaking loudly.

  “We’ve not seen that before, have we now Nellie?”

  Nellie was in no small way intimidated and spoke with a hesitant voice.

  “That’s the truth there, Mary. No, not anywhere.”

  O’Rourke saw the opportunity to impress.

  “Ah now, that’s his speciality. If it doesn’t end the fight there, the end soon comes. Few have much fight left in them after a fall like that.”

  They watched as the Connaught wrestler lumbered around. He was evidently not quick, but not slow either and was stable enough on his immense legs to resist the charge of two Grenadiers, bringing them both to a standstill. They watched for some minutes as the wrestler and his trainers executed a variety of moves, but soon after that Nellie had seen enough.

  “We thank you for this, Sergeant, but, much as we’d like to stay, I must be on and away for me good husband’s dinner. We thank you once again.”

  With that she turned to go, but O’Rourke still had hold of Bridie’s arm and, as he spoke, his voice was laced with hopeful intent.

  “Now Mary, you’ve not got to go, surely.”

  He waved his free arm in the direction of the training still in progress.

  “There’s much more still to see and you can be
sure I’ll see you safe back. Which Company was it now?”

  Nellie had the situation well in hand.

  “Ah well now, Sidney, she has to come, for the drawing of rations, y’see. Her with four children, one but a babe, that bein’ Brian’s. An’ ‘tis my eldest as is carin’ for all four, an’ that can’t go on for much longer. She has not the milk!”

  She let the words sink in.

  “Will y’not see us back down?”

  However, it was Bridie who finally cast them loose, first by extricating her arm and then walking, to be quickly joined by Nellie. O’Rourke had little choice but to follow, but Bridie remained cheerful and encouraging.

  “But the contest, Sidney. When shall we find ye? To get there, where it’s to be?”

  O’Rourke was only just recovering from the shock. Four children! And one a suckling babe. However, this Mary was a most comely woman. Perhaps, yet, even so?

  “Same place as we met. That’ll be the place. At Noon, day after tomorrow.”

  There were no more awkward questions as they soon reached the tent lines and Bridie and Nellie turned right, but not before Bridie had made everything sweet and unsuspicious by kissing him on the cheek.

  “Noon then, here. God Bless You, Sergeant.”

  O’Rourke was much encouraged and eager to part on the best of terms.

  “God Bless You Both. Has it not been a real pleasure? So, Noon, Thursday. I’ll see you both then.”

  With much smiling and hand waving both left and hurried back through the 88th’s camp and, with a final wave back to O’Rourke, they turned between two tents, for appearance sake, then they crossed the ditch and hedge which divided the two Battalions. Wasting no time they hurried back to their tent to find Jed Deakin sat with all comrades around. He looked up as they both hurried in, each more than a little flustered with their close encounter with the Sergeant of the 88th.

  “Where have you been? Nigh on two hours nor more.”

  He allowed them to sit.

  “You’ve been natterin’!”

  Bridie took instant umbrage.

  “We have not! You wouldn’t believe what we had to go through, nor had to say, to get a sight of their man. Didn’t we have some Sergeant slaverin’ all over us? And, did we not have to kid him along, just to get taken up to where their man was rehearsin’ his moves?”