by Paul Almond
After dinner, I saw the Lieutenant sitting down for a smoke, and wandered over. After a few pleasantries, I broached my idea.
“Well, Alford, that’s not too likely,” he replied. “I doubt that our CO would accept anyone less than a stellar soldier as one of only twenty-eight men in his HQ. We’re more likely to get him transferred to the Division Ammunition Column. Lots of fellows are needed to resupply the ammunition, and I’ve often seen less good soldiers transferred there. We can see how he does, and if he works out, who knows, they might upgrade him to Runner afterwards.”
I nodded. Anything was better than what we had.
“You know,” he went on, “I did spend the last couple of nights at the O-Pip with our Major. Fine fellow, right kind of chap to command a Battery, I’ll tell you. When I talked to him, he allowed as how we should get some more practice, due to our new replacement. That’s how I got that extra time this morning.” I saw a slight smile cross his face, and then he added enigmatically. “I did get time to bring up some other matters, too...”
He had been scanning a definite rise behind the enemy lines, when suddenly he shouted, “Number one gun, action!” He handed me the binoculars for a look, and I saw two Germans sauntering along, right where we had been registered.
Everyone jumped to it. I raced back at top speed, leapt into the pit and called out the orders as the Lieutenant hollered them to me.
Edward quickly passed a shell up to Cecil, who stood dumbly looking at it. Oh hell! I grabbed the shell and put it in the breech. I rammed it home, by which time Edward had gotten out the cartridge, set the charge, and passed it on. Harry thrust it in, shut the breech, and returned the gun to the set elevation for firing.
BOOM!
“That’s it!” Overstreet hollered.
Only one round? And only us? I wondered what was up.
I trotted back to our Lieutenant, listening closely to his O-Pip.
“We got them!”
He handed me the binocs, and I saw a crater where they had been walking. Two men, oh yes, strolling along without a care. And now, nothing.
So two dead Germans, for sure.
We congratulated each other, delighted, as we headed to the gun. Mr. Overstreet called for quiet and I caught a little gleam in his eye. “Where is Gunner Smith?”
I scurried behind the gun-pit where Cecil had gone again to hide, and brought him forward. “Well men, we have all seen now that Gunner Smith has exceptional qualities.” Oh-oh I wondered, what was coming? “These mark him as ideal for our Division Ammunition Column.” Overstreet and I traded looks. “I know we shall be sorry to lose him from our detachment.” Cecil frowned, trying to absorb it all. “But you see, Gunner Smith, I’m afraid the Division comes before the needs of one of its Batteries. So, tonight you will go back to the Wagon Lines and report to Brigade Headquarters. From there, you will be sent for training and your place taken by Gunner Heiskanen. He’s already had a taste of our detachment and I know he’ll be welcomed by all of us.”
Good old Dick! I didn’t know whether this should be greeted with applause, but surely, no one would court-martial me for starting it. So I clapped, and everyone joined in. “Bravo Cecil,” we called. Overstreet winked and walked away.
Cecil beamed with pleasure, but I don’t think he knew what was going on. After being dismissed and putting the gun to sleep, I went over and, with my arm round his shoulder, took him for a short walk. “Cecil, this is great news. The Division needs you! You’ll do great in the Ammunition Column.” I prayed that would be so, and then he could get promoted to Runner.
“I don’t know if mother is gonna let me stay. I’d better write her again. I told her I wanted to go home.”
“Well, in the meantime, you’ll get some good training, and you’ll have a whole new job, far away from the guns.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, that’s what the Lieutenant said. You don’t have to worry, you’ll be a hero in no time.” I hoped I made it sound good.
He seemed to absorb that, and then looked pleased. “No more noise?”
“Well, a bit of noise Cecil, but not like before. And I know you’ll get used to that. Certainly, no noise like you’ve been having.”
I went back to the gun rejoicing.
That night, as I lay back covered in my greatcoat, I thought about the day’s happening. We had actually killed two Germans all by ourselves. The other targets were so generalized, you never saw results. But this time, we had definitely killed two. Two enemies, yes, but still, two living men.
Back I went, back to Zotique. All Shigawake had mourned. Was there some little farming community up in Prussia who would get a telegram? Would they attend a memorial service? Would they mourn? What about the sisters and brothers of the two men? And maybe they even had children?
All right, a million men had died in 1914 and that many again in 1915. Enormous, oh yes, but just figures, to me, so big they overloaded the imagination. Not like those two Boches I’d seen just walking down a road, probably talking about their sweethearts, who would hear from them no more. Tonight some work party would collect their remains, their arms and legs, and bury them, maybe in that same shell hole beside the road.
Well, that’s what we came to do: kill Germans. Do our job, oh yes. I felt the need to talk about it, but then I realized it would just put doubts in others: better keep it to myself. I rolled over and tried to get some sleep. We would have another day of firing tomorrow and perhaps an SOS tonight. I must stay alert. But it was a good while before those phantoms let me slide off into an uneasy sleep.
Chapter Ten
After knocking out those two soldiers with one shell, we saw action around Ypres all through August and September, hitting the Hun with bombardments night and day and, when we had time, maintaining and cleaning our gun, unloading ammunition, stacking salvage and generally wearing ourselves out, but of course getting ourselves into shape as a proper fighting unit.
During this period, not being overly distraught by counter-batteries and enemy incursions, I found myself remembering my time in England, when I had met my brother Jack and met a couple of young ladies. Jack, now an Honorary Colonel, had been appointed Assistant to the Head of the Chaplaincy Service and posted to Headquarters in France. During my training at Witley he had rarely come to England, so in May when he did, I got leave and caught a train up to London. Wouldn’t you know he picked me up with this darned great automobile?
Volunteer drivers took officers around and, as a Colonel, he had been given an occasional car. Him and me rode in the back. And in the front seat, one driving, another along for the ride, sat two of the prettiest girls you ever did see. Not a lot of women around those tents on Salisbury plain. Though I did get to a pub, sometimes. Women you saw there were older, likely wives or widows in little knots of two and three, looking a bit worn down. Imagine, women smoking and drinking in public! I don’t know what Old Momma would have said about that. None of us Alfords did any drinking, of course. But now, I enjoyed a nice pint of bitter.
But those two in the front seat! From Brentwood, Essex, a county, they explained, northeast of London on the Thames. Their Daimler, German made(!) was the only car in their town. Pretty sure of themselves, them two girls, I mean those two girls. I decided I’d better get my way of talking adjusted, I can tell you, after their giggles.
The prettier one was named Rene — short for Irene, a name she didn’t like. She pronounced it “Ree-nee.” Kind of close to Raine, I had to admit. Was that some kind of fate? The other was called Leo, though that’s a fella’s name in Shigawake. But no matter how they were named, they were sure a lot of fun.
I sat back and tried to have a serious conversation with my brother but they kept turning around and giving us the eye. Leo was driving, so Rene would lean her chin on her elbow on the back of the seat and look at me with them brown eyes — by god, my heart sure did flutter. But she was so far out of my reach — that front seat seemed a million miles away.
When I was tempted to think about her at night, I’d put the thought right out of my mind. She’d never be interested in the likes of me. So I guess I kind of idealised her.
Over lunch Jack told me that he usually asked for them. He thought his kid brother would enjoy being driven by two pretty English girls. Well sir, he was right.
We ate lunch in a Corner House restaurant: sure must have cost Jack something. But no, he told me, there were far nicer places. He even apologized because most of the brass ate at the Savoy, the Strand Palace, or any number of grander places, all out of a chaplain’s reach, even an Honorary Colonel.
“Well, Jack, you don’t need to worry about this here hotel,” I said to him. “I never seen the like.”
“You have never seen anything like it!” he corrected. “You’ll have to change that way of talking if you want to interest English girls — no more “this here” automobile and “that there” building.” He must have noticed how much fun they’d made of my way of talking — rough edges that needed planing, like boards in Joe’s mill.
As I mentioned, my brother was now assistant to Richard Steacy, head of the Chaplaincy Service which included Church of England of course, but also Presbyterians, Baptists, and oh yes, them — I mean those — Catholics! Every group wanted its own clergymen at the Front. And Jack’s boss, well, he’d been put in charge of all that. So Jack had his hands full.
But mainly we talked about the Old Homestead and he gave me any up-to-date news. Poppa never wrote me; I guess he thought that Jack would pass it all on.
“And when do you think you’ll get to the Front, Eric?” he had asked, frowning. I could see he had become uneasy about my going.
“Not long now. Some say next autumn, but maybe sooner. I can’t wait to get my hands on them bloodthirsty Germans and wring their necks. We’ll push em right back to Berlin, you watch!” I stopped because of the look on his face.
He’d already been to the Front, and didn’t like the idea of his kid brother going off. “Eric, you know the front line hasn’t changed since 1914?”
I frowned. “I’ve heard that, but...”
He leaned forward. “When war broke out, Germany pushed through Belgium. You see, they hoped to curve down from the north to Paris. That way, they could avoid those fortifications the French had built in preparation for war.”
“You think them French fellas knew war was on its way?”
He nodded. “Everyone was aware that the Central Powers had been preparing for some time. Too much to explain now, but once the Boches hit Paris, that would have meant the end of France. At Mons, those monsters sure gave us a terrible beating.”
My eyes widened. I’d heard nothing about a beating.
“Yes, but then at Marne, the British piled in and we Allies stopped them.” He leaned back. “After that, the lines stiffened, everyone dug in, and Eric, there’s been no movement since then. Nowhere on that whole Front, which as you know stretches from the English Channel down to neutral Switzerland, around four hundred and fifty miles.” He shook his head sadly. “Not what we expected when we started out.”
Well, I hadn’t actually gotten the picture that clearly. “So what we’re facing is war in trenches that don’t move?”
He nodded. “And you know, Eric, a million men were killed in 1914 and a million more last year. They don’t put that out, but I talk to the generals from time to time.” No doubt, I could see he was beginning to have his own thoughts about the war and its effect on men.
“I bet you do, Jack.” I was full of admiration for him. But two million dead. Was this the sort of thing I’d planned? I was glad we had talked. I could see what I might be in for.
***
On my second (and last) leave in England, Jack again picked me up at the station in that splendid automobile, driven by the two sisters, Leo and Rene, just as I had hoped. But I was so shy that I just kept talking to Jack about home and my latest training.
“I wondered if you’d mind waiting, Eric?” We had arrived on Horse Guards Parade. “I have someone to see, but it shouldn’t take too long.”
Of course I didn’t mind. But when he got out, I found myself alone with the girls. Leo did her best to make conversation about the weather, which was happily warm, although London always seemed covered in clouds. None of those sunny days we got in the Gaspe.
“Eric,” Rene suggested, “why don’t we go have a look at the Thames; it’s just down there.”
I accepted quickly.
“I’d better stay with the car,” Leo said. “Some bobby will come by and I’ll have to explain we’re on military business.”
As we strolled down towards the river, Rene said, “I gather from your conversation that you and Father John come from the province of Quebec.” I had soon found out everyone referred to him that way.
Talking about the Old Homestead made me feel safer, and I told her about my sisters and Earle working back there and even how I intended to go to Bishop’s University. In no time at all, we reached Victoria Embankment and crossed the wide street to lean at the railings. She pointed out Hungerford Bridge to our left, and then Westminster Bridge and the Houses of Parliament — what a sight!
“I hope Big Ben sounds while we’re here,” she remarked. “Ever heard it?”
“Never. In fact, all this is so new. Just what I hoped for when I joined up. To come and see London.” I didn’t add, and then France. Being shown London by a beautiful English girl, well, I don’t think anything could get better. I said as much, trying not to blush.
She smiled. “Well, it is our job to look after our soldiers fighting for the Empire, and for civilization itself.”
I wondered if that meant I wasn’t so special after all. Stop thinking so much, I told myself, and just enjoy it all. We stayed leaning there, and I asked her a bit about herself.
“My oldest brother, George, he’s been declared unfit, so he’s clerking somewhere. My older sister, Hilda, she joined the Scottish Women’s Regiment. She’s going off with an ambulance brigade.”
That shook me. “You mean she is going to the Front?”
“Probably Greece. She’s the adventurous one. I’m going to be a dancer.” She paused. “That will drive my mother crazy...”
“What kind of a dancer?”
“I’m studying classical Greek dancing. I love it.”
That sounded pretty strange to me. I allowed myself to look at her. Was she ever attractive: her lovely round face made a perfect setting for flawless features under that smart hat. “Leo wants to stay at home. She doesn’t have any ambition, I don’t know why. A bit like George.” She turned. “You must be adventurous yourself, leaving a little farm in Quebec to join up and come over to London?”
“It’s not a little farm,” I replied stoutly. “We have a couple of hundred acres, and we do very well.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she dropped her eyes, “I only meant that you seem quite adventurous, like Hilda.”
No one had told me that before. It gave me a warm feeling. She was full of surprises.
“You know, Eric, your brother... No one from a farm in England would get to be what amounts to being a bishop! When we drive him, he talks of meetings with generals, and with the highest levels of our government. He’s doing a wonderful job. Leo and I both think the world of him.”
Amazing to see your brother through someone else’s eyes. I never got no great sense of his warmth. Sure he liked me, as I liked him, but we didn’t fraternize much. After all, twenty years or more separated us.
“Volunteering must mean you meet lots of other military men,” I said as innocently as I could, trying not to be obvious.
She didn’t look at me. “Yes lots... Well, I suppose we should get back. We don’t want to keep someone as important as your brother waiting. I believe he has a reservation for lunch for you two. Leo and I will have a snack at a nearby café while we wait.”
We turned to walk back. “Hasn’t he invited you to eat with him?”
“Oh no; we’re just volunteers.” She pointed. “Number 10 Downing Street is just around the corner. The residence of our Prime Minister, Herbert Asquith.”
I did know that; I’d read it in the papers. But I never thought I’d be within a toad’s spit like now.
“We meet a lot of officers, but we prefer Canadians. Or Australians. Our own officers are... well, they think too much of themselves.”
Which confirmed my own beliefs. But she did like Canadians. Good! Another point in my favour. Just as well, because I’d not see her again before leaving.
Part Three
The Somme, Vimy Ridge, Hill 70, and Passchendaele
Chapter Eleven
The Somme, October 7th 1916: The Brigade completed a March of 43 miles in 26 hours and arrived in time to take part in the operations at 4:40 a.m. on the 8th.
War Diaries: 8th Brigade CFA
Pitch black. Cold rain soaking us, harnesses jingling, I rode with my Battery as it pressed on, guns nose to tail. The stench filling our nostrils would soon become visible as the rotting flesh of men and horses. Ypres had stunk too, but this smelled of more recent death. Back there, the worst had been latrines, especially when the wind was up. But our Sanitary Detail (we called them the “shit wallahs”) did a pretty good job, covering the pits with chloride of lime every chance they got, burning the refuse and digging new latrines. But now, what were we entering? Some strange subterranean hell? No, just the Somme salient.
Less than a week ago after some pretty harsh action, we’d been resting at Kemmel when the rain started pouring down. The very next day, didn’t we get orders to move south? We marched and rode continuously in a downpour for four days with only woollen greatcoats to protect us: drenched. Being October, the nights were getting cold and the days not much better; I felt chilled through and through.
