by Carl Leckey
This book is dedicated to my wife’s father Royal Marine
Sydney McCreith, killed in the battle of
Crete on 24th May 1941.
He is buried in Suda Bay military cemetery Crete.
Many thanks to my wife Rose for her infinite patience editing my scribbling.
* * *
Thanks to my Front cover designer
Nichola
BOOK ONE
The Angels of Mons
Adam an illiterate adopted boy of sixteen joined the army during the Great War. He entered the Labour Corp a wartime unit consisting of mostly uneducated individuals similar to him.
Some of the tasks he had to perform disgust him but eventually he became a hardened soldier. Fortunately he befriended Sandy a brave conchie stretcher bearer recovering from wounds. Sandy was an educated man a member of the non combatant corp. As their friendship grew he educated the lad until eventually Adam progressed to becoming a frontline ambulance driver. Adam fell in love with Denise a French girl when he transports wounded troops to a chateaux utilised by the British Army as a recovery hospital. Their romance meets many hurdles before he finally rescued her from the clutches of an evil Marquis. When the war ends Adam finds himself and his sweetheart in the company of Oscar the German soldier he unknowingly helped to escape from the British Military Police. The Angels of Mons was published in New Zealand in 2004. The detail in the book is so extraordinarily vivid that Carl feels the story was “channeled” through him by a dead stretcher-bearer as a means of bringing these terrible experiences out into the public domain.
BOOK TWO
Angel on my Shoulder
The armistice is successful. Adam takes his first leave since joining up. Thanks to army comrades Adam is now educated speaks French and has a shrewd business brain. Whilst wandering around the docks he spots his old wartime comrade Sandy being shipped home with other wounded ex prisoners of war. A chance meeting with an old Army mate is instrumental into him entering into a partnership with a former enemy. Oscar is the German prisoner he helped to escape from the ruthless British Intelligence. Rejected by his French fiancé Denise he returns to England for his demob where he discovers some startling evidence about his family. In his home town he has a short passionate affair with a childhood sweetheart. After a strange encounter with two beautiful ladies he is smuggled back into France. His illegal entry comes to haunt him later on when he becomes involved with military intelligence. His life takes another dramatic turn when he inherits property and a great deal of cash. Adam establishes several successful businesses in France with the assistance of his ex army mates. From rags to riches his life takes many turns.
With the assistance of loyal friends he takes over more businesses earning himself the reputation as a company eater.
The story contains Haunting. Tragedy. Kidnap. Love. Excitement.
Book Three of the Angel series will be out shortly
Angel on my shoulder
Chapters
1 Leave
2 Relationship
3 The transport depot
4 Plans and seduction
5 The coach house
6 Back to blighty
7 The silver ghost
8 Louise’s story
9 Home again
10 Return from honeymoon
11 The board meeting
CHAPTER 1
Leave
So here I am in Le Havre France in a house owned by my friend the escaped German prisoner Oscar. The war is over and I am on leave prior to going back to England for demob. My soon to be wife Denise my love is living with us. We are not lovers in the true sense of the word, much to my regret Oscar me dear friend is the strictest chaperone any Lady of virtue could possibly have. Unfortunately for me the reputation of the British Tommy’s as sex mad fiends have spoilt my chances of getting alone with my sweetheart. Just maybe he didn’t trust me because he had witnessed me visiting this very house. This was when it served as a brothel during the war. What a heavy price to pay for a few moments of passion in the expert administrations of the previous female occupants. Anyway it won’t be long now before I experience the complete love of Denise, I must be patient. Shortly my darling Denise will be my bride then Oscar may retire from guarding Denise’s virtue. Life settles down in Oscar’s house. Denise takes charge of the household chores with the help of my friend. He fusses over her like a doting parent and she appears to enjoy his attention. Talk about work? Denise is up at the crack of dawn polishing, washing and cleaning. The whole place sparkles. Oscar wanders around with a silly grin on his face, as he sees the once dull house spring to life. He is forever congratulating her efforts and offering to help. His job entails keeping the kitchen and lounge fires going, and bringing coal up from the cellar.
I don’t know? It’s all very domestic. Maybe she was starved of parental affection by her lack of a Father. Denise appears to have adopted Oscar as her parent and he evidently loves every minute.
I can’t believe how quickly they have bonded together considering their different backgrounds. From what I had seen and heard about her Grand Father, I don’t believe there was much loving coming from that quarter. After one or two days of this domestic bliss I become bored and begin going for long walks on my own. To Denise I make the excuse I have to report in to an army post on a regular basis. This is a lie of course, but I don’t want to upset her as she appears very happy in her new role. I make my way to the movement control office where my friend the clerk arranges an extension of my leave for another week without any problem. He explains he has had no joy contacting the Colonel, and he presumes the chateau operation has closed down completely. He does however warn me he is returning to the UK for his own demob any day now. Any further dealings after he departs will have to be with his replacement, he has no idea who that will be. Corporal Harry Evans moves from behind his desk, shakes my hand and wishes me good luck in case we don’t meet again. This is the first time I have noticed his loss of limb. His left leg is obviously false and he stands with difficulty. “The real one is feeding dogs on the Somme.” He grins and apologises when he sees me staring at him. “I haven’t got used to this bugger yet.” Harry winces as he returns to his position behind his desk. He explains. “The old stump is a bit raw today. I’ll have to get the medics to give it a going over before I go home.” Even though he had always treated me fairly and I like him. I wrongly assumed he was a rear echelon soldier and had spent his army career far away from the action. It just goes to show, it doesn’t pay to make judgements without knowing the facts He doesn’t explain why or how he is still in the army crippled as he is. “Look Lad, like you. I’m a hostility only soldier, but my replacement will most probably be a regular. Be careful how you deal with him. The buggers will be all looking for good postings when the cut backs in the army come, and come they will. Watch they don’t drop you in the shit to better their position? You will have to report here before your leave pass runs out, for orders. By the way, there are lots of drivers on the way with surplus vehicles. They all have to report here for further orders. I’m glad I’m going home, but to be honest I will miss this place and the lads, despite the facts that some of them are a pain in the arse. It will be murder when they arrive I can tell you. I shall have to billet them in a warehouse on the docks, there are no barracks available.
That’ll please the buggers, I’m sure.” “Jeeze! I can imagine what they’ll say.” I sympathise with him. Knowing what the ordinary soldier is like from my brief experience in the army. Now the shooting is over their own army and anyone in authority will become the common soldier’s enemy. The powers that be will be moaned about and criticised at every opportunity.
Encouraged by my commiserations Harry continues. “There’s nowhere else to put them you see? The ferries are chocker block shipping POW’s and wounded home. I take it you have found your own billet? I’m sorry lad I forgot to ask you. What are your own plans, now you are due for demob?” “I think I’ll get a job driving. One of my officers is starting a transport company and has offered a few of the drivers work. I’ll have to think on that one. To tell you the truth, I fancy working for myself. I have had enough of being ordered about. Mind you, he is an exceptionally good man.”
He reveals his plans. “I should like to stay in transport myself but not as a driver. Not with this.” He taps his artificial leg. “More in the administration I think?” I enquire. “What did you do before the war Harry? Aren’t you going back to your old job?”
“Ha! I don’t think so. I was in banking and hated it you see? I love this job, sounds daft to you I suppose? I enjoy working in transport, organising loads and drivers. In fact I like everything about it. I bet you think I’m mad eh? Here I am stuck here in a grotty shed by the docks. The truth is I like meeting real people, not some of the money grabbing buggers I had to deal with in civvystreet. I don’t think I would be much good doing that again thank you. I’m sure the army won’t want me with this now in peacetime eh? Still, I shouldn’t moan. Look what the army did for me? They taught me how to do this job. At least I’m getting out of it with new ability. You know you can curse the army in some ways take me for example, I never ever thought I could do anything but bank work. I was brought up to be a banker from the minute I was born by my Father. I was under my Father’s thumb with no chance to escape. He made all the big decisions in my life without consulting me. That is until the war came along.” He pauses for a moment and appears to drifts off. After a few seconds he drags himself back from somewhere else. Harry then continues on a completely different theme. “Hey Scouse here’s a funny thing, well not really funny, know what I mean? I often wonder if the Fritz who fired the shot that got me, did he ever wonder how he had changed my life. I often think of things like that, do you?” His question throws me for a moment.
I reply thoughtfully.
“Well not exactly. I wasn’t wounded you see? Well in a way I was, I got bombed on a few occasions. I finished up in hospital bashed up a bit. But nothing permanent like a lot of the other lads.
I do sometimes wonder how the aeroplane pilots slept easy after they bombed the hospitals and refugee columns.” Harry confesses in a confidential manner. “I’ll tell you something else I often wonder. Did Fritz that fired the gun that did this to me survive the war in one piece, and what will his life be like if he made it through to the end?
You know the armies swallowed everyone and made them into killers. Regardless of what they did in civvie street.” His reminiscences are getting a bit deep for me. I half heartedly object. “Well, not everyone became a killer.
Take me for instance? Thankfully I didn’t have to kill anyone myself.” In an attempt to lighten the conversation I add. “Mind you there was a time when I nearly shot one of our own MP’s.” My joke falls on deaf ears as he continues confessing. “You know something Scouse? I fired hundreds of rounds. I don’t know if I hit anyone let alone killed some poor Mother’s son, thank goodness. I still have these nightmares and hate confined spaces. The bad dreams are not as frequent as they were, but I still get them.” There is only Harry and me in his office he takes the opportunity to unload his experiences onto a willing listener.
“I was on a burial detail, before I lost my leg that is. There were German dead mixed up with our own lads, most of them kids really. There had been a particularly heavy hand to hand battle for a shit filled trench.” He paused and gave a kind of shudder before continuing in a distant voice as he recalled the horror he had witnessed.
“Oh! My God! It’s still fresh in my memory. They had been fighting with bayonets, shovels, picks, anything to hand. Men who before the War would have baulked at killing an animal had been slaughtering each other like that mad axe killer did.
Those stupid buggers at High Command ordered them to take this particular trench at all costs. It was horrible. You could actually see who had killed who. The faces of those poor men, actually most of them were only boys really, it still haunts me, you know? The irony of it is two days later they were ordered to abandon the position and retreat to their former lines. The powers that be in HQ agreed that the position was too vulnerable to hold onto. Our CO told them that before they ordered the lads to attack the bloody thing. Fancy throwing men’s lives away for a shit filled hole in the ground eh? War is nothing like the recruiters describes it. Glory and heroism be damned! I would describe it as shit, horror, and legal murder.” His voice drops to a kind of whisper. “I have not told anyone this before. I reckon it was worth the loss of my leg to get away from the bloody madness. Do you know? The worst of these recurring nightmares is?” He stands silent for a few seconds then adds. “I suppose you could call the bloomin things day mares as well?” He looks at me, observes my puzzled expression, grimaces then explains, “I only have to hear the sound a whistle blowing and it all comes flooding back. Did you ever hear the German Officer dispatching their mortally wounded when we had a cross flag truce?” I have to admit I haven’t a clue what he is on about. I reply to his question by admitting, “One of the old ambulance drivers did tell me once.
He reckoned the German stretcher bearers didn’t attempt to rescue the soldiers they considered too wounded to move, but he only told me that in a casual manner. I remember thinking typical of the bloody cruel Hun, leaving their poor lads to suffer and die alone.” Harry nods and reveals.
“He was right about that, but what he didn’t tell you was that the Officer accompanying the stretcher bearers shot the poor buggers to put them out of their misery. They had a special pistol with a whistle attached. Before they shot the poor buggers they blew the whistle. I suppose in a way it was more humane than dragging the poor buggers for miles through all that shit to die anyway. “Why did they use the whistle?” I enquire. Harry cynically enlightens me. “It was a signal to us that the hostilities hadn’t restarted. That’s what I mean by the sound of the whistle. If I hear one even in broad daylight I close my eyes and wait for the sound of the pistol shot.” When Harry reveals yet another horrible aspect of the War I recall some of the soldiers we have shipped back to the medics only to find them dead on arrival. I also recall Toot’s advice to me when I went on my first front line ambulance run. “There are some lads we will leave behind. I will make the decision and I don’t want any arguments”
I had to make the same awful decisions myself when I became a number one ambulance driver. That had to be the worst thing I had to do in the whole damn war. I realised after Harry explained, in a way the Huns were more humane than us. I visibly shudder as I imagine being an officer who had to pull the trigger on their own men. I wonder how it affected them later on. I met another ambulance driver, not from our outfit. He had been in the army since the beginning. He told me he was at Flanders during the Christmas truce. He reckoned he played football and got pissed with the German soldiers. He said they were a great bunch of lads. Many of them spoke perfect English they had worked in Britain. Some still had families living and working in our country. I know this part of his tale is true because I have met some Germans with stalls in Birkenhead Market. I also know they were getting a hard time by the time I enlisted.
However his tale really intrigued me. One of the Germans worked as a barber in London, one of the driver’s mates was a client of his pre war. The German barber only gave him a free haircut in no man’s land on Christmas day as a present. I have heard many stories about that Christmas truce. How much of it is true? How much is myth or just wishful thinking. Who knows? Poor bugger Mr Harry Evans Corporal. I think he spends too much time alone with his thoughts. At least I gave him the opportunity to unload his grief. I hope he is able to survive the peace after surviving the appalling war. Will he ever g
et over the horror of the conflict? I hope he does so. He is very popular with all the drivers I have met. The officer in charge of his department never appears to be present. At least I have never seen him.
Harry seems to make most of the decisions unaided. Although I bet some bugger in authority gets the credit for Harry’s work. Typical! I bet if things had gone wrong Harry would have taken the rap. One cynical old sweat gave me his description of an officer. It went like this. A good officer doesn’t make a decision.
If he doesn’t make a decision he doesn’t make a mistake. I know through my own experience this does not apply to all officers. However in my short career in the army I have witnessed both types.
What he referred to must be happening to thousands of men returning to Blighty. Many will be unable to cope with their pre-war employment due to their wounds and mental state. Many have acquired new found skills and education. The same applies to me regarding my change of lifestyle. I entered the army an unskilled cretin, I am leaving with a considerable number of skills. It makes me think, where would I have been without the war? And of course I must not forget my Guardian Angel? What if I had been crippled? Even the most menial task of brushing up shit in the streets might have been impossible?
The door opens another soldier appears. It is time for me to make my departure. I shake Harry’s hand thank him for his help in the past and exit his office. I have enjoyed his company he certainly makes me think about my future. I assure him I am content with my own billeting arrangements
I am slightly bemused at Harry’s advice about his replacement, and the manner he unloaded his worries onto me.
An American song has become very popular amongst my mates very recently very appropriate I believe The words of the song comes to mind now. I find myself singing it as I make my way back to Oscars place.