Made in Myrtle Street (Prequel) (27 page)

Edward had been surprised, then, to find the Adjutant relaxed and friendly when he reported in. ‘Sit down Craigie. Have a cigarette. Did you enjoy your leave? Not too much happened whilst you have been away. In support at Saulcourt, you know, but nothing too exciting.’ There was a sharp knock on the door and the adjutant shouted for the newcomer to enter. Edward looked up and was surprised to see a grinning Sergeant Frank Williams standing there.

‘All right, Eddie? Did you think you’d left me behind in Gallipoli?’

‘There’s going to be a few moves round, Craigie,’ the Adjutant said, turning back to Edward. ‘As you know, we are currently a bit short on our establishment strength because of losses and moves and whatever. Sergeant Williams is rejoining your platoon as Second Lieutenant and he has specifically asked that you should be made up to Lance Corporal, which we are more than happy to do if you agree. I know that you have already turned down promotion twice and I sympathise with your reasons. You don’t want to be responsible for making decisions that might cost the lives of your friends, especially when you can’t agree with the tactics that are being used.’ Edward, surprised by the officer’s directness, felt a sudden flush through his body.

The Adjutant paused for a moment and stared at the engraved silver letter opener that he was turning restlessly in his fingers. ‘I will be honest with you, Craigie, and tell you that, for a lot of the time, most of us are not happy with the way things are being done and we do our best to influence it at local level. But there is a job to be done and if we don’t stand up and be counted, the Germans will overwhelm us. Things seem to be in a bit of a stalemate at the moment but there could be another push soon and we need the right men to be able to do it. You have already shown courage and dedication in anything that you have tackled and the men respect you. You will only be called on to take over if your sergeant is taken out by the enemy but your experience could help you to make decisions that will save lives rather than lose them. I would like you to take it on and I know that Sergeant Williams does, so what do you say, Craigie? Do you accept this time?’

Edward had sat there, still slightly dazed by this unexpected turn in the interview, and had tried to collect his thoughts together. He had turned down promotion so firmly in the past that he had been sure that the subject would never be raised again. The Adjutant was a Major who had seen a lot of active service in the lines, and he was well liked by the men, but he had been so seriously injured that he had been taken back to England with only small hopes of survival. He had eventually recovered enough to be offered a position training new recruits near his home in Norfolk but this he had flatly refused. Instead he had demanded a posting as near to the front as possible so that he could be available for front line duties as soon as he felt able. Now he was coping with the administration work in Company Headquarters without much enthusiasm but in the knowledge, in his mind at least, that it was a temporary expedient.

Edward had felt reassured by the Major’s comments and by the further, supportive encouragement of Sergeant Williams. He had thanked them for their confidence in him and said that he would do his best.

The cigarette cupped protectively in Edward’s hand burnt his fingers as it faded down to a minute stub. He was skilful at taking them down to the last shreds of tobacco but this time he hadn’t noticed. He threw it to the ground, cursing to himself, and crossed his arms on the sandbag in front of him in order to provide a cradle for his chin. He looked through the tiny gap in the barricade of bags over the haunting landscape. It was starting to acquire a burnished glow from the sun that was slowly setting behind them. If he had stood there at night and smoked he would probably have been shot at by German snipers who aimed at the glowing points of light but Edward knew that during the day they rarely bothered. There was almost an unwritten code of conduct between the serving ranks of soldiers lined up facing each other across this no-man’s land. Mutual respect had given rise to a set of rules that were only broken by the orders from higher ranks.

The British soldiers also knew that during the day they would only hear the occasional whistling rush of air as shells were fired at them from behind the German lines. They would brace themselves knowing that they were the targets and it was always a relief to hear the heavy thud of a failed shell or the distant explosion of a successful one. They had escaped again the other possibility, the blinding, searing flash as your body was being ripped to pieces.

Edward felt in his tunic pocket and took out the cigarette packet. He stared at the last, neat, white cylinder that was in there and wondered whether to save it for later. He was trying to limit himself to the ten cigarettes that they were allowed each day as their official ration but he rarely succeeded. Usually they could supplement them with a local supply. He wasn’t thrilled about the rich sweetness of the French cigarettes although he had to admit that they were a considerable improvement on those that they had in Egypt. He was sure that the Gyppies had made them from sun baked camel dung and grass. He’d meant to buy some more Woodbines on his way to the railway station in Salford but his mind had been a turbulent mess of doubts and insecurity as he pored time and again over every second of the strained farewell when he had left the house.

Lighting his last cigarette, Edward watched a fox emerging cautiously out of a copse of trees to the left. Its reddish brown coat shone in the rays of the fading sun. Under its chin and down to its chest it had a vivid stripe of white fur, like a clean bib, and another patch of white on its tail. It hesitated for a moment, standing rigid and staring over towards their line as if aware of their presence, before moving along the edge of the trees. He wondered what they did when the shelling started and thought that they must be immune to the noise. He drew heavily on the cigarette and enjoyed the soothing warmth flowing down into his lungs. When he had gone to young Edward to give him a hug, the lad had held out his hand awkwardly and with a ‘Bye Dad’ had disappeared out of the door. Young Laura had given him a poem that she had written at school, kissed him, and then sat down in the corner with her head buried in a book. The three youngest had just about managed a goodbye as they carried on playing noisily with some pans on the floor.

What troubled him most, though, was the parting from his wife, Laura. She had held him tightly for a minute, her body taut and unyielding, with the damp towel that she had just been using to wipe Ben’s face clasped in her hand against his neck. Suddenly, she had pulled away, straightened the skirt of her long black dress, and rushed without a word into the scullery. He had lifted his kit bag on his shoulder and followed her in there. She had been standing with her back to him, her knuckles as white as the thick rim of the ceramic sink that she was gripping. ‘I’ll be getting off now love.’ She had nodded imperceptibly. He had put his hand out and touched her shoulder. ‘I’ll be seeing you soon.’ Her head had dropped forward. As he had turned away he had just about caught her whispered response. ‘Aye. Happen.’

Perhaps he would get a letter tomorrow. The torment was driving him mad. Perhaps he’d rather not know. If something was wrong, what could he do about it? He was stuck out here in some remote part of rural France and they were up there in the North of England. There was no chance of leave. He’d only just come back after two weeks away. He pounded the sandbag with his clenched fist. ‘Bloody, sodding, useless war,’ he groaned.

Liam had been intently watching his troubled friend for some time. He was huddled with other soldiers round a group of upturned shell boxes that formed an all-purpose table in the trench. They were ‘game hunting’, huddled over short stubs of lighted candles, and running the seams of their clothes over the naked flame. In the trenches they were plagued by lice which lodged and bred in the seams of their clothing. They hated the lice with a passion but they couldn’t escape from them. The lighted candle was the most effective way of fighting them but it only gave temporary respite. Nevertheless, they derived great pleasure from hearing the popping noise as the loathsome creatures burst and shouts of ‘Yes!’ heralded the destruction of a particularly large one.

‘Right then, Eddie,’ he announced. ‘Let’s celebrate your promotion. Better a barmy sod that we know than a barmy sod we’ve never heard of. That’s what I say.’ Liam blew his candle out and went over to his kitbag. ‘Come on now. Gather round everybody and see what surprises Uncle Liam has got for you.’

Finally distracted and intrigued by his friend’s summons, Edward walked over to where Liam was rummaging in the bottom of his bag, pulling out various items of clothing, two copies of the Salford Reporter and an assortment of various items of army equipment. Eventually, like a magician reaching the climax of his act, he stood up and waved a large parcel wrapped in brown paper above his head. He performed a brief, but clumsily executed pirouette, and danced slowly round the circle of now fascinated soldiers, waving the parcel under their noses and challenging them all to guess what the contents were.

‘It’s a slab of your Brig’s parkin,’ was a popular and enthusiastically received suggestion.

‘A nice leg of lamb would be a pleasant change.’

‘A leg of a camel would be a pleasant change after all this sodding bully beef’’

‘Have you brought a rugby ball so that we can start up a new league?’

‘A barrel of Walker’s would have been nice but it looks a bit small for that.’

‘No. Come on. Think a bit harder,’ Liam encouraged them. ‘What gives you so much pleasure last thing at night? What sooths away your troubles and takes away your stress?’

‘You haven’t brought Gertie Grimshaw out of the Ship have you?’

‘No, you daft sod,’ Liam rebuked. ‘Look. I’ll show you. This is with the compliments of the Salford Comforts Committee.’

Accompanied by many questions as to the nature of this philanthropic group, Liam removed the wrapping from the parcel, watched carefully by eleven pairs of curious eyes. With a great flourish he threw away the brown paper cover and revealed to the fascinated audience around fifty neatly stacked packets of cigarettes.

‘Where did this lot come from then?’ enquired Big Charlie, so intrigued that he hadn’t noticed the smoke curling up from the jerkin that he was holding over the candle.

‘I’ve told you. They’re from the Salford Comforts Committee.’

‘That’s nice of them. Who are they anyway?’

‘It’s a group of kind hearted, generous people who donated money to buy cigarettes for the injured soldiers in Salford hospitals.’

A frown crossed Big Charlie’s brow. ‘Hang on. We’re not in a Salford hospital.’

‘No,’ replied Liam. ‘But Brig’s brother-in-law was. He’d been quite badly injured in France and he was in that military hospital up Langworthy Road. Didn’t feel like smoking at first, but he didn’t want to miss out, so he stashed them under the bed pan in his locker.’

‘So has he decided to stop smoking now?’

‘Well, I suppose you might say that. He’s died.’

Edward smiled at his friend’s skilful manipulations to pull him away from his troubled thoughts. Well, perhaps a letter will come tomorrow.

***

Sitting in an agitated state in Havrincourt Wood, Edward was battling to keep his nerves under control and to maintain at least an outward appearance of calm. He wasn’t looking forward to the night ahead in the slightest. It was June 1917 and he was taking charge, for the first time, of his platoon and it now included some fairly inexperienced recruits. The Division was holding a recently captured sector which ran down from the Canal du Nord to just below Havrincourt. They had had orders to move the line ahead by three hundred yards and the engineers were trying to achieve this by digging sap trenches forward from the existing line. Unfortunately, the Germans appeared to have some good positions embedded in the woods and the Division had suffered heavy casualties.

The patrols that would be going out soon were targeted to remove these. For some weeks now, they had been on trench rota in various positions along this line and the night patrols were fairly commonplace. They had then been led by a sergeant but he had recently been moved to another section whose own sergeant had been seriously wounded.

Edward called his section together. ‘We’ll go out from half way up the new sap trench – number 3a – where it runs alongside the large crater. The bottom of the crater should be fairly dry by now but watch out for any nasties. When you come up the other side of it you will find that you are in a small gully. It’s not very deep but it should be enough to give cover if you stay down low. At the end of the gully we will have cover for about fifty yards from some bushes that look like the remains of an old hedge. After that we have to cross about one hundred yards of open ground to reach the east side of the woods. If they start firing machine guns at us don’t drop to the ground looking for cover. They aim them at the ground in front of your feet so, if you drop, you will probably be killed. If you do get hit and go down look for any dips or hollows. Otherwise make sure that you keep your helmet on and lie with your head pointing towards the Germans. The helmet will give you some limited protection. Then dig yourself in as quickly as you can.  We’ll have a weigh-up of the situation when we get into the woods. We will leave in twenty five minutes from now. Good luck.’

‘Aye, we’ll need it,’ Liam grumbled. ‘Bloody daft day to be going out on a show if you ask me.’

Edward looked quizzically at his friend. ‘Why’s that? What’s so different about today?’

‘It’s Friday isn’t it. You know that they say it’s bloody unlucky if you get killed on a Friday.’

Big Charlie looked over at Liam. His raised eyebrows quivered in synchronised harmony with his twitching lips as unformed words emerged in meaningless grunts. Finally, his face settled into resignation as he gave up trying to grasp his friend’s convoluted logic. ‘Aye, right’ he muttered as he turned away and gave his rifle a final polish.