The Battlefield: A Short Story
Page 1
The Battlefield: A Short Story
********************
Based upon an actual event which took place in New Silksworth, County Durham May 1945
********************
By
George Bedell
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. Quotes used in reviews are the exception. No alteration of content is allowed.
If you enjoyed this book, then encourage your friends to download their own free copy.
Your support and respect for the property of the author is appreciated.
The Battlefield
Copyright © 2013 by George Bedell
Foreword
Victory in Europe symbolised the cessation of hostilities in Europe but the Second World War was not over until the Japanese surrender of September 2nd1945 some months later following the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6thand 9th.
Of course, other significant things were happening in the world towards the end of the conflict. Iceland had declared its independence from Denmark; Ban Ki-Moon, the current Secretary-General of the United Nations, was born in South Korea; Milan Hodza, the Prime Minister of Czechoslovakia had died. Hodza was renowned for his belief in an intergrated, regionalised and federal Europe and, of course, the European Union was to become a reality which would keep the peace in Europe to this day.
The music of the time was provided by Vera Lynn, Bing Crosby, the Andrews Sisters, Ella Fitzgerald and the Ink Spots. Ballroom dancing enjoyed universal popularity in the UK with young couples dancing to the arrangements of Glenn Miller, Victor Sylvester and Ted Heath in the dance halls of almost every town and city.
Finally, it is worth noting that electronic communications rose to prominence quickly in World War II. While prior to the war, few electronic devices were seen as important pieces of equipment, by the middle of the war such instruments as radar and sonar had proven their value. Additionally, equipment designed for communications and the interception of those communications was becoming critical. Half of the German theoretical physicists were Jewish and had emigrated or otherwise been lost to Germany long before the war started. Germany started the war ahead in some aspects of radar but lost ground to work in England and also by physicists and engineers at the radiation laboratory of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). Today, MIT is internationally recognised as being at the cutting edge of excellence and innovation in telecommunications and its infrastructure.
In the villages of the North East, however, the conduct of life on a day-to-day basis, was largely unaffected by what was happening in what was to become, decades later ‘the global village’. This short story illustrates the simple and somewhat quaint existence of village life which appears to have been mostly lost to us all.
Geoffrey A. Walker (September 2013)
And so the story begins…
It was the early summer of 1945. A momentous time. This was the year the Allies finally defeated Germany’s Hitler and his evil regime. Victory in Europe had been declared and V.E. Day celebrated in a battered and tired Britain. The atom bomb was yet to fall upon Japan, so, final victory had yet to be realised. Nevertheless, there was a feeling of great elation among the long-suffering people of Great Britain and not a little relief too. They had made it to the end. Men, who had spent many years in the armed forces, scattered across many countries of the world, were beginning to trickle home to the relief and delight of their families. The mean streets of urban Britain were decorated with bunting day in and day out. Street parties were continually organised to welcome home the victorious warriors: their families joyful and relieved at their safe return. Air raids were a thing of the past. The lamplighter was back. After six years gas lanterns were ignited on streets that, for almost five years, had been swathed in inky darkness after sunset. The little colliery village of New Silksworth, in the County of Durham, with its population of about eight thousand men, women and children was encompassing the new optimism too.
In many ways the work and culture of the village had changed little when compared with other places. In spite of the war, the colliery had continued to produce coal. Indeed, because coal was so vital to the war effort, the men were denied the right to enlist in the forces, so almost all of them had continued their work and family life, through all of the war years. However, in spite of the heavy work at the pit and a three-shift system, some of the miners had joined the Home Guard. The village had its own platoon. It met three nights per week. HQ was the Drill Hall of the Royal British Legion, in Castlereagh Street. Captain Norris was the Platoon Commander. He was aged sixty-six years and had commanded the platoon for five years. Norris had served as a regular soldier in the Durham Light Infantry during the First World War but was too old to serve in the second. He had attained the rank of Warrant Officer in the regular army, therefore’ had been commissioned into ‘Dads’ Army’. An erect, six foot tall, rather florid man with a distinct air of authority, he sported an Errol Flynn like moustache and had cold grey eyes which, on occasions, revealed a wild and rebellious glint. On parade he was always immaculate. He wore a carefully pressed and tailored Service Dress Uniform complete with peaked cap; Sam Browne Belt with three pips on each epaulette and sported a loaded revolver in its holster. The latter was an illegal souvenir from his earlier career as a soldier now again pressed into service. The men knew full well that he would not hesitate to use it should the need arise. They neverever meddled with Norris. His platoon of thirty-six men was a credit to him and his Platoon Sergeant: Joe Bedell.
Joe was a pitman at Ryhope Colliery, a couple of miles away, on the coast. He lived in Silksworth with his wife and four young boys. He was strong and wiry without an ounce of fat. At about five feet seven, he had a poker face with sharp features, rather large ears accentuated by his forage cap, strong jaw and intensely cobalt blue eyes. Like his Commander, Joe was always immaculate, in army battle-dress, belt and gaiters carefully blancoed, in cool green, contrasting with effect, to the glistening gold of highly polished brass. The men saw Joe as their friend and mentor – a dependable buffer and moderating influence upon the crazy Norris. A fine and complementary pair , that had nourished, trained and sustained probably the most professional platoon in the County of Durham.
Since VE Day Norris and Joe, naturally, had a job to keep the platoon motivated and performing up to their exacting standards. Both were very bright men well able to innovate, motivate and lead. However, in spite of their efforts, the platoon was beginning to lose its edge. The letter from Colonel Prior was a godsend. It had been delivered to the Drill Hall by the Colonel’s driver, in early June of 1945 and addressed to the Officer Commanding, The Home Guard, New Silksworth: Norris.
It was the habit of Norris and Joe to turn up at the Drill Hall about thirty minutes before the due time of the parade at 19.00hrs. Joe arrived at 18.30hrs. Captain Norris was at his desk and just starting to open the mail.
“Now then Sergeant”, said Norris.
“Captain!” responded Joe as he saluted the officer.
“Stand easy, Joe, and sit down while I see to this bumpf”, Captain Norris barked, in his best officer accent, acknowledging Joe’s salute with his eyes.
This had been the pattern of the last five years. Norris would always maintain the officer/other rank divide on their initial meeting and gradually relax as the night wore on. The second letter he opened was Colonel Prior’s. Joe watched as the eyes of the Captain grew wider and his florid fac
e became as red as a smacked backside.
“Who the hell does the fat bastard think he is?” shouted Norris
“Here Joe, what do you think of that”, the Captain snarled as he jerked his hand, containing the letter, towards Joe. Joe read the letter carefully. The subject of the communication was the concrete pill-box built on the Colonel’s land, which lay south of Silksworth, on the road to the ancient village of Burdon It was one of the platoon’s six similar emplacements, at strategic points, in their area. These small fortifications were built in there thousands throughout the United Kingdom, between 1939 and 1941, as a German invasion seemed inevitable.
It appeared that the Colonel was withdrawing his permission for the box to be on his land and requested the Home Guard to demolish the box as soon as possible. Joe thought that the Colonel was being a little quick since victory had only been declared a few weeks earlier. Nevertheless, on reflection, he thought that the request was reasonable. Norris did not. He went off into a tirade of the most picturesque and foul language, describing in some detail, his complete lack of respect for the bumbling fools of the officer class, which had commanded him, in the First World War. The Colonel was one of those. He had been retired