Bold, Brash and Brave

by Alan Tansley

  This new soldier was a big man, now on the ground face down, grunting and spitting. When his guard chained him to the barricade, he tried to stand up but couldn’t because of the chains around his ankles. The guard turned and stood to attention, and saluted when a First Lieutenant approached, asking, ‘Are these the three?’

  ‘Yes sir, their hearing is set for five o’clock. Shall I feed them before or after?’

  ‘Before, to save time—the hierarchy are visiting at first light, so its best that we deal with these problems earlier, Carry on, guard, and make sure they get a good wash as well—they smell like an ash-midden.’

  ‘As you wish, sir,’ the guard replied and saluted.

  All three prisoners had heard, and there was a brief silence.

  The deserter from Bradford asked, ‘My name’s Thomas, what’s yours?’

  ‘Henry,’ came the answer. Henry eyed the state of the third prisoner, and said ‘It seems you both have been in trouble before.’

  ‘Too fucking true, mate. When you are lied to, promised the earth in wages, and told you could travel the world if you join the army, well – when you don’t, it makes all these bleeders into liars,’ shouted the soldier from Bradford. He was now sitting cross-legged, leaning his elbows on his knees, with his chest heaving with temper. ‘I won’t let them shoot me like fucking fodder,’ he moaned.

  ‘So Henry, what troubles have you been causing, or did you nick some ammo like me?’ asked Thomas, and laughed out loud.

  ‘To be honest, I don’t really know. I just got arrested.’

  Thomas eyed his uniform. ‘Hang on, aren’t you with red company, supposedly saving that stupid fucking hill?’

  ‘If you mean section forty two, yes.’

  ‘So you must be that Henry that saved his platoon leader and killed those Germans single-handed then?’

  ‘He was my brother, and I was only doing it to save him,’ replied Henry, looking slightly embarrassed.’

  ‘So what you done wrong, kid, you must have done something else?’ asked the third soldier, who was now lying back.

  ‘Nothing I can think off.’

  Suddenly, there came a whining noise that began to get louder. Henry began to cringe, and ducked and cowered behind Thomas. A wayward shell, aimed at a beached ship unloading supplies, was off-course and very near to them when it exploded. Sand spewed into the air and peppered the surroundings, including the three prisoners.

  The excessive noise immediately sent Henry into a seizure. The others stared at him until Thomas shouted, ‘He’ll be alright, just leave him to come around on his own.’

  None of the commissioned ranks saw the event, being too busy rearranging their tents and dusting records, so Henry’s seizure went un-noticed. ‘Poor bastard,’ said Thomas, now understanding that Henry couldn’t fight while having a fit, so he couldn’t comprehend any order.

  When Henry eventually did come around, he looked perfectly normal, even thanking the guard when he brought them all something to eat. The guard watched them tuck in, and said ‘In one hour, you will be brought before the Major to answer to your charges.’

  ‘No problem, mate, we aren’t going anywhere,’ joked Thomas, but with a slight uneasiness in the tone of his voice.

  Fifteen minutes later, four burly guards approached, and the prisoners were clumsily marched towards a tent, chained hand and foot. Sitting inside, behind a flimsy desk crookedly resting on a sandy floor, was Major Templeton-Smythe with a soldier at his side who was writing in a ledger. When they all stood quietly in front of him, he looked up, read out their names, and then asked if they were correct. When all three said yes, rather snappily, he began to read out their charges. He asked again if they were correct, and after a pause, he asked if anyone wanted to say anything in their own defence. When no one replied, he seemed rather disappointed, and carried on delivering the sentence to each one. Henry began to swoon and ending up leaning on Thomas. He tried to speak, but his mind entered a dream and it seemed as if he was floating when all three were forcibly led away. When he heard that they were to be classed as cowards, taken outside, and shot by firing squad, Thomas began a verbal assault, shouting obscenities and threats at each officer.

  Each had to wait in turn while the other was tied with his hands behind a post that was set into the sand. The major returned to their billet, and throwing his cap on the table, moaned, ‘Do you know, I hate doing judgement orders. You never know if the evidence given to you is right or not.’

  Timothy had remained in their quarters, being his usual self and preparing his uniform and pistol. Shaking with nerves, he snapped, ‘Is that right? Well let me tell you this, I am a nervous wreck. This is my first time administering their rights, and I’m petrified.’

  The three prisoners were tied securely to the posts, with canvas hoods over their heads, trembling with fright. Nobody realised that Henry’s shaking was caused by a fit. Timothy left their billet feeling apprehensive, and approached the firing squad, thinking ‘Let’s get on with it, quickly.’ Taking a deep breath, he approached the five riflemen, saying, ‘Attention!’

  ‘God help us, and these bastards,’ shouted Thomas, and then they all heard gunshots. All three slumped down lifelessly, only to be held up by their hands tied behind the posts.

  ‘God give me the strength to do this,’ whispered Timothy, and looked down at his hand, which shook as he took his gun out of his holster. He walked towards the prisoners and gulped as he saw the blood pumping out of their tunics. He quickly asked the guard to remove their hoods so that he could administer the last shot in the temple. Thomas was first. Timothy pointed his revolver at his head, his hand shaking when he squeezed the trigger. He looked away before his gun went off, and felt strangely relieved.

  Without looking at the body, he carried onto the next. When the guard removed the hood, Timothy suddenly came face to face with Henry, his head drooping on his chest and saliva pouring out of his mouth, ‘Hurry up, sir, this one hasn’t gone yet,’ said the guard. Timothy stared and gulped, holding his pistol at Henry’s head. When it began to violently shake, the guard offered to take over. ‘What? Oh, no,’ gasped Timothy, and squirmed as he pulled the trigger.

  The guard took hold of Timothy’s arm, thinking he was going to faint, but now shaking in shock, Timothy carried on to the next prisoner. He fulfilled his duty, now in a daze, and quickly returned towards his billet, replacing his revolver in its holster.

  Once inside, he made straight for the Major’s brandy bottle. Timothy poured a drink into his mug and gulped it down. Not used to it, he coughed and spluttered. He had tried to convince himself that he hadn’t just shot Henry, and began to go through the records. When he found out that it was indeed his brother, he slumped down in his chair, and resting his head back, suddenly sobbed out loud.

  The Major entered and, hearing him, said, ‘Nay son, don’t take it to heart. It wasn’t that bad. According to the form, you did an excellent job.’

  Not really wanting him to know the truth, Timothy quickly regained his senses, stood up, and walked over to wash his face. After doing so, he picked up the bowl and threw the water out of the doorway. He now realised that his youthful ambitions and desires may have caused his brother’s death. ‘Where are they being buried? I want to pay my respects,’ he snapped.

  ‘It’s already been done, son, and we never mark graves of cowards. Look, son, you did your duty and that’s the end of it, let it be. You’ll have others to attend to, and I can assure you, you must always put on a brave face in front of them.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’ About to say that he had just killed his brother, Timothy, suddenly changed his mind and murmured, ‘Let’s just hope the evidence was accurate, else we will both be in serious trouble.’

  With two guards to aid him, George was sitting awkwardly on a train, travelling home. With each day that passed, the pain in his amputated leg began to ease. So far, he had been manhandled everywhere, but he knew that there would be a time when
the only way to get about would be by using a crutch. When the train eventually stopped near the church, he gazed out of the window. He smiled at seeing his parents’ land again, and wondered if they knew the extent of his injuries, not knowing that they hadn’t been informed. His guards watched with him, and then one turned and opened the carriage door, asking, ‘How far is it to your home?’

  ‘A couple of miles, but I want you to take me to my Florence’s house first. I’ve just got to see her,’ replied George, and then took a deep breath before they manhandled him down onto the side of the track. There were no other passengers, and all three now stood on a boarded platform with an empty wooden shed at the side. George stared around him when the train set off, engulfing them with steam. ‘Come on then, mate,’ said the guard, and held a piece of wood under his backside. When his mate took hold of it, George slipped his arms around their shoulders, before settling back.

  Chapter 21

  Mrs Webster was in the garden hanging out their washing when she heard voices and turned. She saw two soldiers approaching, carrying George between them. She suddenly glared when she saw only one leg, gasped, and ran towards them. Rather sheepishly, George looked up at her, asking, ‘Where’s Florence, Mrs Webster, could I see her please?’

  Because of the weight they carried, the guards were running out of patience. One of them said, ‘Please, ma’am, could I interrupt? As you can see, Lance-Corporal Cotton has a serious injury. We are to deliver him to his home, so can you direct us please?’

  ‘Bring him into our house, we will look after him from here,’ she replied, and without waiting for a reply, turned and set off down the path. When the guards followed, George remained quiet, not wanting them to know anything, but the look of delight on his face soon changed when there was no one else inside. When they seated him in a chair, both guards were relieved and stretched to show it. ‘Would you like a drink of tea?’ asked Mrs Webster.

  ‘No thanks, Missus, we have a train to catch,’ replied one, and turning to George, he held out his hand saying, ‘Best of luck mate, we know you are going to need it.’

  ‘Don’t forget, the paymaster will call to see you in a month or so, and best of luck from me as well,’ said the other, then both stood to attention and saluted him.

  George just nodded, shook their hands again and waved when they set off. Rather impatiently, as soon as the door closed, he asked, ‘Where’s Florence?’

  ‘Well now, George, I think I’d better start at the beginning. Harold will be home soon, and then we can take you home.’

  ‘Isn’t Florence here now?’ he asked, looking perplexed, Suddenly, it occurred to him that she might be with someone else, and in sheer disappointment, he slowly bowed his head.

  ‘I’ll just go ask a neighbour to borrow his hand cart,’ she said, turned and walked out.

  ‘Mrs Webster!’ shouted George, but without turning around, she continued on her way, making him feel dejected. His heart sank even further. He looked around at the house, trying to pass the time by noticing the changes. Five minutes later, Mrs Webster returned and turned a chair to face him. Sitting down, she smiled, and then said, ‘Right then, George. Our Florence is up at your farm. We take it in turns, so both grandparents can look after your daughter, Georgina.’

  ‘What?’ he gasped, and trying to stand up, nearly fell off the chair.

  Holding his arm until he settled down again, she continued, ‘Yes, George, you have a beautiful baby daughter.’

  ‘But what about her dad? I can’t fight him like this—he’ll kill me,’ George protested.

  ‘Well, better get ready, because he’ll be home soon.’

  ‘Oh bloody hell,’ moaned George, not knowing whether to be more happy or worried.

  As Mrs Webster was studying the consequences of her news, the door opened, and in walked Mr Webster. He stared at George, who was clearly taken aback and trying to prepare for a fight. However, Mr Webster’s face lit up with delight. He walked over and enthusiastically shook George’s hand, saying that he was pleased he was home, and then stood back to inspect the extent of his injury. He grimaced, then asked, ‘Is it painful lad?’

  ‘Harold, I’ve borrowed next-door’s handcart, so let’s get George up to the farm, then they can be together,’ said Mrs Webster, smiling widely. ‘Let’s be fair, they have a lot of catching up to do.’

  George was still dazed, not understanding, when Harold agreed and set off for the cart. When he returned five minutes later, he frowned before politely asking if George wanted a hand, not wanting to hurt his pride.

  ‘Yes please,’ George replied, wanting to get to Florence and his parents as quickly as possible, so that he could understand all of these mysteries. Harold leaned forward, slipped one hand under his legs, and then George gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder, allowing Mr Webster to carefully pick him up.

  Carefully resting him on the handcart, Harold picked up the shafts, and with Mrs Webster by his side, they set off. As they chatted on the way, George rested back on his hands and gazed around him, realising just how much he had missed the countryside. He watched Harold’s back as he pulled the cart, and still couldn’t understand his attitude. More to the point, when they neared the farm, he began to feel apprehensive because he didn’t know how Florence would react to seeing him without a limb.

  They approached to farmhouse and saw Florence sitting outside, occasionally rocking a wooden crib that Joseph had made. When she heard a noise, she looked up, and turning, saw who was in the cart. She stood up and shrieked aloud, running towards George. Her father lowered the shafts so that she could jump on the cart to join him, and then he and her mother went into the house, smiling.

  George was now lying flat on the cart, with Florence on top of him. He held her tightly while she kissed him passionately. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ she moaned, and kissed him again.

  ‘And I have you, but…’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ she gasped, and greedily kissed him again.

  George grasped her shoulders and held her off his face. He stared into her eyes and groaned, ‘There is a part of me missing.’

  Florence had a crafty look around to see if anyone was watching, and then sneakily reached down and grabbed him between the legs. Smirking, she joked, ‘Everything seems to be in place to me.’

  ‘I’ve lost a bloody leg, woman,’ he shouted, and his face screwed up as if he was going to cry.

  ‘Hey, you, the best bit I’m looking at, so who cares,’ said Florence. She lowered her head, but this time kissed him tenderly.

  They didn’t know that both parents were watching them with admiration before they returned indoors. Mrs Webster looked after Georgina, and Mahala handed the tea, while Joseph chatted with Harold about the coming weekend when he was going to teach him how to plough.

  Suddenly, the door opened, and George stood in the doorway, with his arm around Florence’s shoulder. Both were struggling, but they managed to make their way inside. Mahala stared, while Joseph, having already had a hint from Harold, assessed his son’s condition. George’s head was bowed as they both continued inside. Mahala stood up and stared at him, shouting, ‘Hold your bloody head up high lad!’ When George obeyed, she remarked, ‘That’s better. And never ever forget, you lost that leg serving your country.’

  After seeing Florence and George settle themselves around the table, Mrs Webster followed Mahala into the kitchen. While they prepared dinner, she asked, ‘Have you heard anything about your other two sons?’

  ‘No, but George might know something when he gets settled,’ replied Mahala, and tried to smile when she picked up two plates of food. George looked around and smiled at his mum when she placed the plates on the table. She soon frowned, seeing him eat as if there was no tomorrow, guessing that he had been hungry.

  After saying their goodbyes to the Websters, Mahala took Georgina from George, and after nodding to Florence, had to smirk before she said, ‘You might as well have an early night—George must be bugger
ed with all that travelling.’

  Without hesitation, George set off, hobbling towards the bedroom, and with a big smile on her face, Florence followed. Watching the door close behind them, when Mahala sat with Joseph, she moaned, ‘For God’s sake will you put that pipe out; you know it makes Georgina cough.’

  ‘You’ve always got to have the last word woman, haven’t you?’

  ‘That’s what we were put on this earth for.’

  Timothy’s life was now in turmoil, with his brother’s death constantly on his mind. Now, he was regularly making mistakes. The Major was getting the brunt end of this malarkey as he called it; in the past he had taken all the credit for Timothy’s meticulous work, but now he was getting all the flak for his errors. After putting up with digs and jibes from his superiors for five more weeks, in the end he called for an impromptu meeting with Timothy to discuss their situation. He had heard that both could be transferred and separated.

  ‘Sorry, Major, I have had a lot on my mind. Letters from home, girlfriends and so on, it just gets you down,’ he moaned. Then he realised that they might lose their now cushy station, and suddenly aware of what he had said and to whom, he quickly added, ‘Oh, you know what I mean, with Penelope now at the top of my list, the others will have to go, and some are taking it rather badly.’

  ‘Oh, now I realise. I’m sorry, my boy. Tell you what, I’ll square our situation and put it down to constant excessive enemy conditions—they won’t know any different, but we must pull up our socks. Do your best, lad, so come over here and have a tot to perk you up,’ said the Major. He laughed as he poured out two brandies.

  The Lieutenant in charge of taking the hill had another go, and failed. So far he had lost thirty-five men, and but his superiors still thought it could be taken. Their strategy was ludicrous, so now the Lieutenant decided to pursue the possibility that George’s idea to take the hill from behind could be more successful.