Bold, Brash and Brave

by Alan Tansley

  ‘Excuse me, Sergeant, are you available?’ asked a voice from outside.

  ‘Yes, fucking hell. What is it now?’ he growled as he swiftly returned the hip flask into his coat pocket. He stood up but kept his head bowed so as not to touch the canvas, and opened his tent flap, saying, ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘Three recruits have been caught sneaking out of camp, Sergeant,’ the guard replied.

  The Sergeant glared at him and he barked, ‘So tell me, were they just about to fuck off, or did you catch them red-handed crossing the boundary line?’

  The guard, as if sick of his grumbling and orders, sighed, ‘We caught them near the perimeter and escorted them back to their tents. They are on report.’

  ‘Very good, so why bother me? You seem to have everything in order, now just fuck off then,’ shouted the Sergeant, and pulled the tent flap down. Listening to the footsteps, the Sergeant settled in his chair and took out his hipflask, moaning, ‘Some of them want their arses wiping.’

  Chapter 13

  The only problem that Timothy had encountered so far was that they were ordered to move lock stock and barrel two miles further inland. Their day consisted of trying to sleep for five hours, and then recording everything in the remaining nineteen. Repetition made this tedious, but the work stayed very demanding, so the huge effort Timothy put into doing his best, coupled with poor living conditions, unhealthy diet, weak or non-existent communications, meant that his health began to deteriorate.

  He was by now used to the individual stenches of warfare, including the most potent odour emitted by dead bodies as he recorded their details. He had less contact with them when the military authorities were granted a large portion of land for burials. However, he just couldn’t understand when the Brigadier approved all top brass orders, whether they were right or wrong, without questioning them.

  Back home at the farm, things were getting better. Florence had given birth to a daughter, aided by Mahala and another experienced mother of seven, a member of the mothers’ circle. It was a wonder that the lovable baby, named Georgina, born on the second of May, did not get dizzy with the excitement of being continuously passed around.

  When everyone left for home, discussing the main event of the day, Mahala locked the door and smiled at Joseph, who was sitting holding his granddaughter. Seeing his face glowing with pride brought back memories of him with his first son Timothy; then she scowled, whispering, ‘And I wonder what future that bugger has planned for himself.

  Over the next few days, Florence recovered well, and it seemed mother and baby were doing fine. Mahala’s mothers’ circle had come in very handy, especially when she asked them if they wanted to work part-time at the farm. Many accepted the rate of pay, and when they commenced their duties, began to love working in the open air. So with most of their menfolk working during the day, Joseph worked out a rota so that most of the women could return home in time to make their dinner, for which he now provided most of the meat.

  It was a give and take situation. The women loved working there because of the extra money, especially as Mahala provided them with a free lunch, and because they finished work earlier than their husbands, so most were home in time to finish household chores. For many in the countryside, the war seemed distant and unreal. News of the outside world always travelled very slowly, often taking weeks, and many were not interested at all—which meant that nobody knew that British troops were being killed in their thousands.

  Early morning on the next day, straight after breakfast, the troops broke camp. Henry, George and the rest of their platoon loaded everything onto what seemed a railway carriage that had the top cut off. Securely covering it with tarpaulin before boarding in a proper carriage, they soon settled down, but after only travelling for half the day, they began to grumble before disembarking at what seemed another camp. They were now accustomed to pitching their tent and quickly making sleeping arrangements, so after they checked their equipment they sauntered over towards the other men and stood at ease in what seemed the middle of the camp.

  They quietly chatted about what could lie ahead for them while awaiting their orders, and then suddenly stood to attention. Their platoon leader dashed in-between their rows and gave them each a small bag called a field dressing, which perplexed them. They tucked the packages away into their tunics, and then were ordered to systematically march around the camp perimeter.

  There was constant marching, with intermittent standing to attention, then listening to endless instructions. After one more cycle of the field, they were given orders to stand at ease. George watched two other platoons erecting tents, and then a bonfire was lit, presumably to cook dinner on. Two hours later, they had finished a scrumptious meal, which everyone commented on.

  Each platoon then attended a speech given by the camp orderly, who irritatingly strolled up between the rows of men with his head bowed, making it difficult to hear him. He emphasised the rules of the battle, and what was forbidden. Many were uncomfortable with his instructions regarding anyone near to them who was injured: if they could talk and were breathing, they were to be patched up, and if not, and they were bleeding badly, they were to be ignored. The orderly’s voice grew adamant, and he nearly shouted as he stressed, ‘Remember this, lads: at the battle front you look after yourself first, and not anyone else, especially when they might already be dead.’

  Staring straight ahead, Billy whispered, ‘Looks like all those rumours we’ve heard could be true then.’

  Taffy cringed as he moaned, ‘Yes, and it looks like it’s going to get rough from now on, lads.’

  Well into the night, Henry and the rest of his comrades discussed the content of their orders, only this time without the usual excitement or gusto. Just after dark, nearly all had entered their tents, hung up their uniforms, and once wrapped up well, listening to perfect silence, they all tried to sleep. Henry couldn’t drop off as he didn’t like the silence; normally he could hear the familiar snores, grunts, groans, breaking of wind, and even the occasional solo conversation—the eerie calm scared him.

  They suffered another uncomfortable night sleeping in a tent, mainly due to the cold. The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, the entire company marched up a country lane, not understanding why they didn’t break camp to pack it away. ‘Can you smell anything funny?’ asked Henry, trying to peer over the shoulder of the soldier in front.

  George pulled a face at him, asking, ‘Such as?’

  The chatter among the men suddenly grew louder, ‘Oh bloody hellfire,’ moaned Henry, and stared ahead. He waited while the Sergeant passed them, then turned to George, mouthing, ‘It looks like we are going on another boat ride then,’ as if wanting him to confirm it, but couldn’t understand when he didn’t.

  At the dock-side, the men were now at ease and sitting on anything they could for a rest. George checked the morale of his platoon and asked if anyone needed water.

  ‘I want a fucking miracle for my stomach, mate, if we are going on that bloody thing,’ snapped Taffy, and nodded to the first ship which, looked like a floating rust bucket.

  Henry was looking pained. He read the uncertainty in George’s face, then moaned, ‘It looks like this is it then brother.’

  ‘There are two of us. If we look out for each other, we won’t go far wrong, mate,’ replied George, then quickly turned and began scanning the dockside, thinking, ‘I bet we are going to eat dinner on board.’

  Three hours later, with the entire company on board a ship and seemingly relaxed, the throbbing of the engine made Henry drowse in the middle of assessing his future. Through half-closed eyes, he glanced around at the rest of the platoon and felt dismayed as he thought, ‘There is no way we are going to return home alive from this.’ He now knew that they had been lied to by the recruiting officers, and he felt used. Henry gritted his teeth with anger, realising that there seemed no way out his present situation.

  This situation had also dawned on George, but much earlier. However, he
had delved into his position, accepted the responsibility, and was determined to look after his men, no matter what the outcome. Even at mealtimes, he always inspected the cleanliness of the cooks and servers. If they weren’t up to his mum’s standard of hygiene, he always made them scrub up, then corrected their manners before inspecting the food quality.

  He led his men down below from the galley. ‘I’m sure this bloody boat is leaking. It’s leaning to one side for a start,’ moaned Taffy, and carefully bowed his head before they entered a large cabin lit by two oil lamps slowly swinging from the ceiling. ‘Good God,’ he murmured, before he slumped on a pile of coconut-matting. To cause a scare, he squinted at one of the lamps, and moaned, ‘I bet they daren’t turn them up full so we won’t see all the cracks.’

  George spun around and glared at him, snapping, ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid.’

  Putting on a scared expression, Billy glanced at Taffy and sheepishly asked, ‘And why would you say that my friend?’ Unable to keep a straight face, he sniggered as he looked for something comfortable to sit on. To heighten their fear, he sneered devilishly, before he moaned, ‘Mind you, I did notice two large cracks in the hull and thought, surely that can’t be right.’

  Henry sat bolt upright, shouting, ‘You never did?’

  ‘Well, it might have been how the sun was shining. You know how shadows exaggerate things,’ replied Billy, and had to look away to hide his smirk.

  ‘I can assure you this boat will get us to our destination,’ said George, and winked at Billy as a horrendously loud horn sounded.

  ‘Fuck me. It’s abandon ship already,’ shouted Taffy, standing up.

  George scanned his manual, began to laugh, and stood up, holding his arms out to quell the situation. ‘Relax all, come on, and settle down now,’ he shouted.

  ‘I want to go up-top now!’ shouted Taffy, looking very nervous.

  George was shouting so that everyone could hear, ‘Well, you will not. That hooter meant it’s four hours before we disembark. Now you can get some sleep.’ Looking around, he waited for them to settle.

  When they did, he sat down on a pile of canvas sheeting, and although he rested his head back, he couldn’t get comfortable with the noise from the engine. Mid-vibration he thought, ‘goodness me it’s like sitting on an old steam engine.’ He squinted as he looked around, and for the first time, he noticed that the hold was very rusty with red water stains, and it sported new rivets in the panels as if had been patched up.

  Henry had also noticed the stains, tried to drowse, and couldn’t; he heard Taffy’s loud snoring and moaned, ‘Do you know, that bugger could sleep anywhere.’

  Chapter 14

  At the start of the war, foot soldiers followed the cavalry charge so, as of yet, digging in was not an option. Horses were the main mode of transport, and cavalry charges were often made toward the enemy, or the other way around, just like in the Wild West of America. In open countryside, hundreds of infantrymen were cut down with cannon or rifle fire, and many fields were littered with dead bodies. Men and horses lay where they fell, so everywhere was stained red with blood. Many a truce was upheld to bury their troops, but Generals on both sides soon realised that their strategy in warfare had to change, and very quickly.

  Timothy was now situated very near the war front for the first time, and losing heart with his position in the army. The Major was now detailed with three privates for a burial party, because every day he was dealing with an endless delivery of bodies, all English soldiers. They all had to be identified, registered and their personal possessions recorded and logged before any could be buried. However, this soul-destroying work had upset him greatly, mainly because they were mostly burying boys rather than men.

  Wet, wintery conditions made the going under-foot terrible; they often stood in cold sludge up to their knees. They were now approaching the October of 1915, and the air was thick with overhanging cloud, with a constant thunder of shelling and gunfire in the distance. One of the main problems for the troops was trying to keep warm. The constant stench of blood mixed with the sludge, saturated with the foul smell of rotting flesh, resonated with the buzzing from millions of flies who seemed to love every moment. Theirs was a soul-destroying occupation. Timothy began to lose weight, mainly because of the poor quality of the food, and decided not to take chances on where and how it was cooked, or by whom, anymore, suddenly making up his mind to prepare his own. All their food was delivered in the same way as any other goods, in straw-packed wooden cases, but the main problem was the dubious cleanliness of the people that prepared and cooked it. Timothy decided, for their own good, to take charge. He first had their quarters moved to higher ground. Now they were positioned in a slight breeze, which meant that their quarters kept drier so they did too. The first thing that happened was the Major’s gratitude for his initiative.

  After more alterations, they had a canvas canopy over the doorway to protect the fire from wind and rain, and when cooking utensils were placed around it, the Major took notice but didn’t interfere. That night, and after finishing a meal of pork, bread and roast potatoes, the Major was glowing with comfort as he relaxed in his trusty handmade oak chair. ‘Where the hell did you learn to cook like that?’ he asked.

  Timothy smiled, and was relieved when he felt a westerly breeze, knowing it would take the stench of warfare away from them. For the first time in what seemed like ages, they were in drier surroundings, and didn’t hear squelching when anyone moved; emboldened by his comfort, Timothy smiled and said, ‘Where I come from, recipes are handed down. I was lucky to have a good mother.’

  ‘I must inform you of this, Timothy my boy. When my next report goes in to HQ, I will recommend you for a promotion, lad. And let’s be fair, you deserve it.’

  Timothy stood up, picked up his tin plate, placed it in a pan of ice cold water as he replied, ‘I’m only doing my duty. It is only expected of me.’

  ‘No, lad. I’ve just realised I should have had all this done, and didn’t. You are far better than me. You are the future of our great country, and you must never forget this, lad, if anything happens to me, please look after my daughter. I know she likes you and you like her, so don’t let anything, including her damn mother, get in the way of a relationship,’ retorted the Major, and frowned, as if knew his wife would be a problem.

  Timothy turned from washing their plates, and seeing a tired old man rather than his superior, he snapped, ‘You cannot expect me to go barging down to your house. That would not be the act of a gentleman, and Penelope would think me very forward.’

  The Major sat bolt upright, and staring into his eyes, decided to tease him. ‘When you came home with me, I saw a twinkle in her eye and a spark in yours. I bet, left on your own for half an hour, you would have ended up in bed.’

  ‘Major. How dare you insinuate such an act!’ shouted Timothy, glaring at him.

  ‘Don’t you dare use that innocent attitude with me, my boy, and I can assure you this: if you live to be a hundred you will never have more women than I have had. But I will say no more about that other than this; I know you two are well-suited, so as soon as you get the chance, go and get her, mate,’ replied the Major. He relaxed back in his chair, picked up his tin mug and poured out a slug of brandy.

  The men did not know that the seventy-foot flat-bottomed ship they travelled in was very old, and did indeed have a serious leak which had been patched up for their journey. The Captain still managed to beach it on a sandbank at precisely the right time and position. Most of the troops were drowsing, but the sudden loud scraping noise and lurch when the boat landed woke most of them.

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ shouted Taffy, and quickly stood up. Blinking as he came to his senses, he leaned on the sweaty, rust-covered hull and blinked again, then squinted out of a small porthole.

  Patiently waiting his turn, Billy stood at his side, and when given the chance to look, he shouted, ‘Hey, lads, must be here. We aren’t moving.’

 
; Taffy glanced over his shoulder asking, ‘What’s that, and why?’

  ‘Right, men, gather your belongings together—it’s nearly time to disembark,’ shouted George.

  John Thomas slung his rifle over his shoulder, asking, ‘Why the fuck is he using big words like that?’

  With an echoing clunk, the door opened, and a soldier uniformed in dark blue popped his head inside. Looking around, he shouted, ‘Get ready, lads, you are the first for breakfast. In your own time, follow me!’ When he disappeared behind the door, George began to line them up.

  Henry stood up, slung his pack over his shoulder, and with rifle in hand waited for instructions. In silence, the men shuffled forward, continued out through the door, up some steps, and when they reached the next level instantly sniffed and smiled when it smelled like bacon. A different soldier, also dressed in a dark blue uniform but with more gold stripes on his arm, shouted, ‘Right chaps, stow your gear and line up at the galley hatch.’ Standing back and waiting as they did so, he winked at George, then quietly said, ‘When they begin to eat, come with me.’

  George waited until his men were served and were heartily eating their breakfast, and then was ushered into a side-room. There was a table laid out for four, and he was nudged forward and told to sit down. Now realising that he wasn’t going to eat with his platoon, and feeling slightly angry about it, George tried to choose his words carefully. ‘This is irregular procedure to my orders. I like to eat with my men.’

  ‘Orders, my boy, and don’t give me that silly attitude. When you’ve dropped these men off, you’ll be going back for some more. You know very well that they won’t last twenty four hours,’ replied the naval officer, and walked off laughing.

  George was incensed at his flippant attitude, especially when his brother was in the ranks. He could do nothing but slowly sit down at the table, and thank the white-coated orderly who placed a large plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. The words ‘They won’t last twenty four hours’ began spinning around in George’s mind.