Bold, Brash and Brave

by Alan Tansley

  ‘Well, what’s there to run away from?’ asked Billy, and stared at him.

  ‘Fucking bullets, you stupid bugger,’ snapped Walter, and rolled over, turning his back to him.

  The days began rolling by, filled with tedious and repetitious marching. Six weeks later, George attended his third meeting with the Sergeant, who was doing his best to educate the lance corporals he had chosen as leaders. Knowing their battle training time would be short, he only informed his men of the basics. This was to instil discipline, personal hygiene, and that they should always to look after their uniform and keep their boots polished. Most importantly, they were always to follow orders. There was also the discipline side, and now, every morning on parade, the lance corporals did the work of the Drill Sergeant, who stood at the side of the field, smiling proudly while he watched his tuition in action.

  When George returned to his hut, he undressed and lay on his bed. Henry strolled over and sat down on the end, asking, ‘Has the Sergeant mentioned when we go to war yet?’

  ‘Not yet. He said we might have some more leave coming to us soon. He’s also been notified that most of the men who didn’t return back to camp were caught and jailed. Three were wanted for bigamy, and the rest luckily failed their medicals,’ he replied.

  ‘The jammy buggers,’ moaned Henry, watching George’s reaction.

  ‘Makes you wonder though, boys. This is a bit like being in prison. I think first chance I get, I might marry another woman just to get out of it. What’s worse, jail or war?’ asked Taffy, and lavishly grinned at the idea.

  Billy rolled over to face them, complaining, ‘You bloody Welsh are all the same, just plain sodding greedy.’

  ‘Listen, mate. I’ve just passed my medical, and bigamy is rife at the moment. Besides, my wife was always nattering on about the lack of food in the house. In fact, the last time I saw her, I said, “look I’ve pinched you a bigger spade, my love, so you’ll be able to dig the garden quicker,” and do you know what she said to me, lads?’ After waiting for a reply and not getting one, Taffy rolled over onto his back, and with his hands clasped behind his head, said, ‘The ungrateful bugger shouted, “and when do I have the time to dig the garden?” Do you know, she’s only had four kids and they could help her, but she’s hasn’t the brains to think that.’

  George rolled over at his poor joke, groaning, ‘Oh my good God.’

  Not many miles away, the Major had begun to treat Timothy like a son, which began to unsettle him when he realised that the Major’s plan was for him to marry his daughter. Timothy did like Penelope, but he just wished he had known her for longer. A fleeting visit to their house wasn’t good enough. However, he considered her educated, witty, and a lot more worldly-wise than she had let on. Wherever the Major went, he always took Timothy with him, even to give report on recruitment and standards of training. These were usually held in a hotel in Sheffield. He wasn’t allowed inside, and had to wait outside, but the Major would discuss events, and even criticise his superiors over dinner.

  Much to Timothy’s relief, the unit his brothers were in was being sent to Ireland, so that weekend, he decided to write to his parents, explain his position and, for once, be open about his future. He intended to inform them that he was making the army his career, and would stay in it as long as possible. Enrolling into the army was his dream come true, and Timothy had realised long ago that education combined with experience was the key to success, so that from now on he would use both to his advantage.

  The Major regularly mentioned his daughter, and also the fact that his family business had now received a large government small arms contract, to develop and manufacture rifles for the troops. Timothy had long ago realised that the Major had character flaws, but it took him a while to notice the problem with the Major’s ego. The Major had been taunted by his father when he was an adolescent; the old man had often joked, ‘He’s definitely not from my loins. To this very day his mother still fastens his trousers and shoelaces.’

  While the Major was in higher education, boredom crept in, so for pure devilment, and to test his own his wit and intelligence, the Major embarked on a career of manipulation. When he returned home his early twenties, now dapper and dashing, he sought revenge on his father for his ridicule, and duped him into paying a very good salary for doing nothing while continuing his playboy lifestyle. This continued until his father became suspicious when the Major disappeared every late afternoon. His father decided to follow him, and was astounded when the Major entered a house of ill repute. Later that evening, he confronted his son and a family row began. The rift continued for two weeks, and more out of convenience than embarrassment, and to calm matters down, the Major began courting Dorothy Fitzherbert, the eldest daughter of a local brewer. In more respects than one, each used the other to expand their circle of friends, which lead to more and bigger social activities.

  In keeping with tradition, a lengthy courtship began, but after a short engagement, and soon after they married, his father reinstated him at work. However, two years after Penelope was born, the Major joined the army, and because of his family status and wealth, he was instantly given the rank of Major. The main reason for this change of profession was that there was less to do in the forces, and a little travelling and training kept him out of Dorothy’s way for an occasional few days. It was ironic that when he decided to leave, war broke out, so he was instantly conscripted back in.

  That night, Timothy began to compile a letter to his parents, and failed. Without completing anything, he impatiently returned to the camp, and three days later, did manage to finish one. When he reluctantly posted it, he knew he had tried very hard to find the right words, and put it down to the fact that he wasn’t and never would be a family man. Timothy decided to have a drink in the officer’s mess, and sitting down, began to pour it out. He turned when two young-looking officers entered, and immediately stood up. One of them smiled and said ‘Don’t stand to attention on our account, old chap.’

  After introductions, and when the officers had been served, Timothy invited them over to sit at the table with him. Relishing the prospect of their company, and waiting until they had settled, he asked, ‘Which regiment are you with?’

  ‘None yet, we are still on our training. We were detailed to stay the night here as the train doesn’t continue. So, as you might say, we are just passing through,’ replied one, and grinned at the other before he had a drink.

  ‘Good God, I don’t know how you stand it round here, it’s a bloody filthy area,’ moaned the other, and pulled a face of disgust. Timothy recalled the experiences of the corn representative who visited their farmhouse. He’d always bragged that he should have never moved north from Cambridgeshire, and guessed by their lingo that the two officers were from somewhere near that area. To keep up with their standards, he just smiled, but remembered his grandmother’s favourite scold of ‘always pronounce your consonants.’

  He gestured to a small side table with an open book on top. ‘To maintain local regimental etiquette, I hope you will sign our visitor’s book?’ Timothy said, smiling innocently.

  One of them raised his eyebrows, and glanced at his friend as if not understanding. Looking disbelieving, he asked, ‘Is it that important? I have heard about them but never seen one.’

  ‘Oh yes, even Lord Kitchener has signed this one,’ replied Timothy, and walked over to the table. He picked up a large ledger, returned, and placed it before the officers.

  Both leaned forward, and when Timothy opened it at a particular page, they pointed and enthusiastically gasped, ‘Good God, he bloody well has as well.’

  ‘Were you here at the time?’ asked one, now seeming impressed.

  ‘I was away attending training at the time, but our Major was in attendance. A good chap, he is, and very competent,’ replied Timothy, and sat down.

  ‘We are meeting him in the morning, so could you brief us on him, please? His name did appear rather strange to us. By the way, old chap,
please call me Thomas,’ he said, and held out his right hand to shake while drinking up with his left.

  ‘I’m Godfrey,’ said the other, with a smile that was clearly false. ‘And by the way, they said our rooms are supposed to be in here somewhere. Could you point them out, old chap?’

  ‘Next floor up,’ replied Timothy, and nodded upwards, thinking they were a very strange couple.

  ‘Oh, not far to go when we’re pissed then,’ said Thomas, and slapped his mate on the back while they laughed heartily.

  At the training camp, Henry was keeping an eye on George, who seemed to be getting more involved with the practical side of the army and was often seen conferring with the Sergeant. The reality of going to war, and being posted abroad, was beginning to dawn on Henry and George, making their light-hearted signing up a distant memory. As expected because of their inexperience, Henry or George didn’t relish the prospect of going to war. Along with their comrades in the hut, they had been taught how important it was to pull their weight together, always cover for each other and, most importantly, keep a constant eye out for the enemy. They usually went about their business with efficient regularity now, but Billy was getting fed up with their training routine, and often moaned that it was like being in service. However, most remained quiet until one sunny afternoon. John-Thomas, or Jonty as he was better known, ran out of patience with Billy’s whinges, and sat up, snapping ‘You keep on saying that mate, but what the hell do you mean?’

  Billy was lying on the bed nearest the door. ‘Working like bloody servants, that’s what I mean,’ he shouted. Everyone stared at him, because he was usually a man of very few words.

  Staring at him, Albert asked, ‘Have you ever been in service?’

  ‘Not really, but my parents were, and they were treated like shit,’ Billy replied, and defiantly stared back.

  Taffy seized the opportunity to get friendly with him, and sat up to ask ‘How do you know, were you with them?’

  ‘I always lived with my grandparents because the servants weren’t allowed time off to have kids. Luckily, the owners were away in Africa when I was made, and my mum had me just before they returned,’ he replied, and then turned over so his back was to Taffy.

  Henry, perturbed at being ignored, gasped, ‘Surely they wouldn’t have done anything about it.’

  ‘Believe me, mate, because the master’s wife couldn’t have any children, their servants couldn’t. If they had found out about me, they would have kicked us all out, that’s with nowhere to live and nothing to eat,’ said Billy, rolling over again onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

  ‘Looks like that’s the end of conversation then,’ said Taffy, and smiled sarcastically at Henry.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ said Edward, who leaned to one side, and farted loudly.

  ‘Fucking hell, that’s all we need!’ groaned George, and walked out of the hut.

  Within two minutes, the smell Edward emitted had emptied the hut, and when most were standing outside the door, chatting while it drifted away, Taffy asked George, ‘What do you two do for a living then?’

  ‘Farmers,’ replied Henry and sniffed.

  Raising his eyebrows and smirking, Taffy asked, ‘One of the rich ones?’

  ‘Oh yes, can’t you tell we are loaded, mate? And if you believe that, why are we bloody well here?’ snapped George, glaring defiantly.

  Chapter 8

  Two weeks later, in what seemed like a rush, the unit was prepared to travel. Half of the men were being sent to Belgium, and the rest, including George and Henry, to Ireland. Their training camp had served its purpose and was being closed down. The area in question had also served its purpose, providing young men for war, and now it was time for the recruiting officers to move on. However, where to? Only a select few knew that, as their objective was to recruit and train, not chase or arrest. Although George, Henry and the rest of the men were partly trained as soldiers, they had no experience of warfare; so like many, they felt very apprehensive about their future. They didn’t even know what the enemy looked like, and more to the point, they didn’t yet have live ammunition, just bayonets. So even though they didn’t know what it felt like to fire their rifles, could they shoot straight, stab, or throttle another human being with their bare hands?

  After a tedious train journey, made even more arduous by not knowing their destination, they reached some dreary and dirty dockside. Most of the men had been very disappointed when hadn’t received any leave before being sent to Ulster. Excitement did arise, though, when they found out that they were travelling by a new type of ferry boat—so with the weather and sea being exceptionally calm, their journey became an excursion; most of them had never seen the sea before, let alone been on a ship.

  After a smooth crossing, landing at Belfast docks and then marching to their billet in a second-class hotel, their spirits rose even higher as they stood to attention outside, especially when they were informed that their six-hour crossing had been calm, and could have been a lot worse.

  ‘Have you seen everyone staring at us?’ asked Billy, who had caught the eye of two young women across the road having a quick chat, and blatantly winked at them. They were wearing short skirts, white blouses, pinafores tied tight around their waists, and their hair was held in place with a headscarf tied around their heads.

  ‘Oh yes indeed,’ drooled Taffy, and grinned, reminded of home.

  The Major and Timothy were posted to Mons in Belgium, and based fifty miles from the war front. For the time being, as they both lacked the experience in this field, they were allocated to provide supplies into the battle zone, so they had to learn the logistics quickly. Neither batted an eyelid at their orders, although this was a big and important job with food, clothing, medical supplies and munitions involved. In fact, it was a total nightmare; everything was brought in by ships, stored, recorded, then had to be deployed. Someone had to be in constant attendance, recording and registering goods, as well as men and the horses required to move them for the authorities in London. When they first arrived, one of the sights that upset them most was seeing hundreds of badly injured men wearing bloodied bandages, lying in unsanitary rows, ready to return home soon as the supply ships were emptied. Although they had first been treated at the front, because many men were limbless, still in agony and screaming with pain, they still made an awful, disgraceful and pitiful spectacle for anyone viewing them for the first time.

  At the war front, when a lull in bombardment allowed the men to travel, their injuries were first assessed, then treated at the nearest medical posts. After being patched up by the medics who did the best job they could, they were man-handled back down the line to makeshift hospitals as there was no other means of transport. The term ‘makeshift’ included any derelict building and tents, or, more often than not, men were laid under planks of wood leaning against a wall, a hedge or a fence and covered with canvas. Because of the distance they had to travel, and the inevitable lack of speed, many soldiers died on the way. Makeshift mortuaries were constructed, and while waiting for burial, the stench from their bodies was vile. A troop of four men were detailed permanently on burial duty, which was carried out whenever possible between shelling. They always took their time, as it was far better than fighting at the front.

  The war front varied when the Allies pushed Germany all over the continent. However, when they recouped, thanks to General Alexander von Kluck and his 150,000 crack soldiers, the Germans rearmed. When refreshed, they quickly reversed the process.

  It didn’t take long for Timothy to work out that the British army was undernourished, lacking in skill, and disadvantaged in firing against someone they couldn’t see. German troops regularly pushed forward, leaving a string of unmarked graveyards, which he did his best to chart on reference maps.

  Horses did all the heaviest work, laboriously pulling wagons full of supplies and munitions, then returning with bodies. Occasionally, at the most desperate times or when badly injured, some horses were
shot for food, having served their purpose or being deemed past their best. In fact, they were regularly seen grazing between volleys of gunfire; and it was rare to waste a bullet on a horse when you might need it if the enemy charged. General conditions were very severe for the soldiers of both sides, who were often wet-through, freezing, undernourished, and severely lacking munitions; to put it less politely, they were saturated, stinking, suffering frost-bite, starving, and daren’t fire a shot, knowing they couldn’t waste a bullet.

  Day or night, each platoon’s lieutenant would stay with his men and limit his orders, trying his best to keep their conditions above average. This was impossible, but somehow he had to maintain discipline—and always remember with dread his training orders that if any man ordered to do so wouldn’t go over the top, he must threaten to shoot him.

  Luckily, bombardments with heavy cannons were haphazard, and often fell short, but as bullets regularly zipped overhead, and occasionally hit the edges of their trenches, most of the British troops in the trenches kept their heads very low. They knew that the German snipers were good, missing only rarely. The snipers usually caught out the odd soldier who stupidly raised his head too far and, as instructed by his superiors, their Platoon Lieutenant would make light of his demise by stating that he should have known better.

  Morale amongst the British troops was very low, especially for those on sentry duty, who had to stand in eighteen inches of freezing sludge. They often heard the Germans singing as if they were having a good time, and saw sparks in the air as if they were all around a campfire. It was disheartening, but most of them always disbelieved the signs, knowing that they could be a trap. For the British troops, meals were always cold and limited, and then suddenly everything had to be discarded when the whistle came. In the trenches, the men would all quickly assume their posts, line up, and stand attention, looking skyward with bayonets fixed ready, and wait for orders. With his handgun tied to a white lanyard, ready for use, their Lieutenant would awkwardly pace the trench behind them, trying to judge their situation. They listened for rallying cries that the Germans made if they were charging, and when they didn’t hear anything, everyone immediately stared skywards, as if trying to assess the range or position of another aerial bombardment. The British troops were trained to hold fast and wait for shouted orders, but when the bombardment started, they were once again left feeling disheartened, demoralised and in many ways de-humanised. As a matter of fact, if it hadn’t been for the countless orders issued by their company Lieutenants, distracting many soldiers from the norm, many more would have gone mad.