by Carl Leckey
Now and again I spot Billy at the operating theatre and tent as I worked close by he seems to be spending all his time scrubbing and cleaning the equipment.
I wave to him a few times but he appears too engrossed in his work to bother answering my wave. He must have seen me. It makes me wonder if I have done something to upset him. I didn’t mention it when we eventually meet up. All Billy speaks about is the importance of his job and the really gross things he observes while on duty. Frankly I’m witnessing enough horrors without him adding to them as I want to enjoy my meals I began avoiding him at meal times.
Over the last few weeks I learned Billy has a temperamental streak and is prone to mood swings. A good mate on the whole but on occasions he is best left very much alone with his own thoughts.
Close by the farm house HQ a large tent with a Red Cross emblazoned on the top has been set up as a second operating theatre in anticipation of yet more casualties.
The Corporal shows me one of the more unpleasant tasks I have to carry out after the stores issue me with a tin lined handcart. This is to be left outside the operating theatre until it is full of bits and pieces, then I have to take them up to the big hole we have previously dug.
After tipping them in I am instructed to cover each layer with quick lime followed by a topping of loose soil. Before the hole is completely filled I am to dig another, and so on.
I look at the size of the hole and try to imagine how many poor wretches will have to lose parts of their bodies to fill it, and the Corporal is already contemplating a second hole.
My tasks up to now are quite easy until the hospital gets into full swing, there have only been a dribble of casualties since we went into business.
The once empty tents were now occupied by the cooks, mobile bath unit staff, the de-louses, storekeepers, and other odds and sods posted to the hospital. My fantasy of having female nurses vanished as the tents fill up with male inhabitants.
Already we are beginning to familiarise ourselves with the None Combatants and other soldiers. The hospital gradually comes together as an efficient unit under the guidance of the Colonel and his NCO’s.
Chapter eight
My new mate Sandy
One of the NCC men is assigned to work with me until he is fit for front line duties again. He has already been wounded twice already and has only been in active service for six months.
As we tidy around the camp, clear and burn rubbish, make paths and collect eggs for the cooks we naturally talk about our previous lives and our experiences since joining up. After a mid day meal, myself an NCC man and a couple of other soldiers are driving in posts and stringing wire to define the boundaries of the hospital marked out by the Sergeant.
“These boundaries are to define the no weapon zone inside.” He explains before leaving us to our work.
I notice another tent line and a barb wire compound outside the hospital perimeter. My NCC co-worker Sandy confides in a quiet voice so as not to be overheard by the other men working a short distance away.
“They are the MPs tents. The compound with the big bell tent inside is for wounded enemy prisoners prior to them being moved to the rear POW camps.
That will not be a very nice place when they start bringing them in I can tell you, some of the MPs are worse than the enemy and treat the NCC fellows like shit. They don’t believe we should be bringing in enemy wounded, the callous swine reckon we should shoot the wounded in fact we should shoot all enemy prisoners.
They are of the opinion like a lot of other people that we should concentrate on saving our own soldiers and leave the enemy to rot. I don’t agree, they are all some mothers’ children and like us most of them did not want this ungodly war. See that other little compound alongside the tents, the one surrounding that brick storehouse?”
He points towards it. “That’s for our deserters, the poor buggers are stuck in there and treated as bad as the enemy until they are either field Court Marshalled here or shipped to rear for General Court Marshall. Although to my knowledge it’s usually the Officers who are sent to the rear for the General Court Marshall.” He adds thoughtfully.
“What happens to them then, after the Court Marshall?”
How naive I am these days.
Sandy replies with sympathy in his voice. “Then the ordinary soldiers are usually found guilty of desertion in face of the enemy and cowardliness.”
“But what happens to them then?” I stubbornly enquire.
“They are put out of their misery by a firing squad made up of soldiers from their own regiment drawn by lottery. Another reason for us not carrying arms don’t you think?”
“Good Lord.” I reply horrified at the implications of this practice.
“How cruel, being chosen by lottery to shoot maybe your own best pal, it doesn’t bare thinking about.”
“Cette la guerre, Mon ami.” Sandy responds in French. He explains the translation to me when he sees the puzzled expression on my face.
“The top brass reckon it’s to give the rest of the men backbone, make an example of one or two and the rest will behave that’s the theory anyway. They don’t seem to take an account of the soldier’s previous unblemished record.
Most of the poor buggers I’ve seen shot were too shell shocked to know what is happening to them anyway.”
“I’ll tell you a story of what the French did to their own soldiers after they mutinied. The callous swine selected soldiers for execution by a lottery system. If your number came up they shot you regardless of whether you took an active part in the mutiny or not. I heard on good authority, they shot one of their most highly decorated soldiers. He was in a coma and they propped him up tied in a stretcher. He had been seriously wounded but his past record was not taken into account you see?”
“Jeez! Sandy we never heard anything about this at home you know?” I reply with astonishment.
“There’s a lot you don’t know lad about this horrible war. I sometimes wonder if all the facts were disclosed to the British public what would happen? Would those insane women cease that heartless practice of giving white feathers to the brave objectors? Would there be mass protests to stop the war? I don’t think so, too many scoundrels are making vast fortunes out of the blood of the lads over here and that includes our so called enemy.” Sandy has certainly got me thinking.
He adds. “Eh! Scouse, I forgot to tell you what happened after that Christmas shindig. It will have to be when we have more time, it’s a long and horrible story.”
I straighten up from my task. “When did the Christmas thing occur and what happened, come on Sandy tell me mate?” I find I am horrified yet fascinated by his revelations.
“You must know it was when the front line soldiers refused to carry on fighting after the unofficial Christmas truce in 1914?”
I have no knowledge of these events but I certainly want him to reveal more details about the incident. Sandy remains silent for a moment.
After a while he whispers. “The blindness of men, they had an opportunity to end it there and then. Even the Angels were said to have descended from heaven to show them the way but the fools in authority.”
He shrugs his shoulders as if in despair as he recalls the event. He continues. “Those in power for reasons of their own and backed up by arms manufacturers wanted the war to continue. We must not forget there are plenty of get rich quick villains making vast profits out this misery. All these evil people ignored the Lords messengers, the Angels of Mons.”
“Scouse, please excuse my secretive manner. I have to whisper these sentiments in confidence, only because I believe I can trust you. I don’t want the others to hear what I’m saying, I’ve have enough trouble from ignorant people misinterpreting my beliefs, do not repeat these facts I am revealing to anyone else. Even to your mate’s, or you will be branded by others as a defeatist and your life will become a misery.”
We have driven the last post in and the lads stringing the wire approach to attach the next leng
th.
Sandy assures me in a whisper. “I will tell you more details at another time about the Christmas incident, also the despicable act concerning the French military I promise.” As we walk towards the wagon loaded with fence posts he begins talking again after making sure he is out of earshot of the others.
“There have been many more horrific deeds perpetrated by both sides since this Godless war began the authorities have been concealing them from the general public.”
He reminded me of the other time I have heard Angels mentioned since coming to France. His manner of expressing his opinions reminds me of another person I have met recently and prompts me to ask.
“Where did you learn to speak French?”
He informs me that before the war he had been a language teacher.
“Oh Lord. What a coincidence.”
I explain all about Oscar the German prisoner. Much to my shame I have forgotten all about him until the conversation with Sandy reminds me. Sandy is beside himself with excitement as he explains.
“There could not be a coincidence such as this? I believe I know your German prisoner. If it’s the same Oscar he came to our school teaching German and French in about nineteen twelve I believe. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it is him and he is still held in this camp? He is a great believer in world peace you know? An excellent example of how a good Christian should behave through his time on earth.”
By this time I can’t help thinking I have mated up with another of the Holy Joe’s I despise so much. But Sandy is an exception to the rule, there is something about this man that I can’t help liking despite his religious trend.
I grab an opportunity to solve a nagging problem. Here is my chance to get my letters read by someone with education. I tentatively extract the crumpled mail from my pocket.
“Sandy, will you do me a favour mate? Will you read these letters to me please?”
I flush with embarrassment as he takes them from me.
“Er, I never learned to read you see, didn’t get much schooling.”
Sandy gives me a strange look making me feel the need to give him a better explanation. “It’s my fault I just didn’t like school very much. I had too many beatings for trivial things and the teachers were horrible Nuns so I never turned up. I don’t regret not going to that lousy school but I am sorry I haven’t learned to read and write?”
“No trouble pal.” He rips the envelopes open one at a time and reads them through.
Sandy smiles as he discloses the contents. “They are both from a Corporation Cleaning Department Manager in a place named Birkenhead. The first letter warns you that if you do not attend work or give a reasonable explanation for your absence you will be disciplined.
The second letter confirms you have been disciplined in your absence and dismissed from their service. Good eh! This is indeed a turn up for the books?”
We both burst out laughing at the irony of the situation.
We have barely finished our tasks driving posts as the first horse drawn ambulance arrive with casualties aboard and pull up outside the medical tent. A man screams in pain as Billy and the Corporal lift a stretcher out of the covered rear and hurry into the tent.
Three others climb out unaided, they have their eyes blindfolded and obviously can’t see, a Doctor lead’s them into a second tent reserved for Gas victims.
That is the end of my quite time in the Army, from then on horror after horror follow in rapid succession. The old sweats promise I will get used to it after a while but I never do. When I think it is impossible to witness anything more grotesque than the injuries I am confronted with on a daily basis, casualties arrive with even more horrific and disabling wounds. How some of them endure the journey I will never know. The poison and mustard gas casualties appal me more than what is described as ordinary battlefield injuries. Jake, one of the second men that ride the ambulances to the front line revealed to me on a particularly bad day.
“Scouse, these are only the ones that have a chance of living. We don’t bring in the no-hopers. You do not want to see some of those poor buggers we leave behind believe me.”
How can men? Intelligent educated men, inflict this Hell on each other is beyond me.
At least I console myself, it isn’t ignorant uneducated fellows like me that design and order the use of these inhuman weapons on my fellow man.
One day merges into another, the first hole fills up after about a week and I start to fill number two. In between other duties I begin digging the third one. I am so tired by this time I work as if in automatic gear.
More rumours of an armistice filter into the station but it comes to nothing again, just wishful thinking by battle weary men. The rumours see-saw my hopes and emotions up and down until after a while I learn to ignore any unconfirmed rumours of a cease fire.
Chapter nine
Promotions
Some good news for a nice change greets us when we turn out for work one morning. Our Sergeant has been promoted to Staff Sergeant and the Corporal to Sergeant, best of all as far as I am concerned Billy is promoted to Lance Corporal.
I meet up with him that night and congratulate him assuming he will be overjoyed with his promotion, I am totally wrong.
He sits despondently on his bed, chin cupped in his hands.
I try cheering him up to no avail. Eventually I lose my temper and reprimand him.
“Bloody Hell Bill, if this is what promotion does for you, why didn’t you turn it down. Eh! And another thing I wave to you time and again, how come you never let on to me when I pass you at work? What have I done to upset you?”
He looks up shocked. “You say you waved to me and I ignored you?” “Yes you bloody well did.” I reply angrily.
Gloomily he replies. “That’s the problem Scouse, that’s why I’m worried about this promotion. You see when I took my medical I’m afraid I kidded the quacks about my eyes, I bribed another lad to do the eye test for me.
I’ve got really bad eyesight you see? I’m sure they would have flunked me. Bloody Hell, I couldn’t have stood the shame of it, having to go back to confront my mates at the slaughterhouse.
I’ve done well in the operating tent up until the Sergeant recommending me for promotion. Now they want to send me on a course, I’m afraid I will be caught and kicked out. You know Scouse? I’ve never been happier in my life, even though I know the rest of the other lads reckon I’ve got a shitty job. I love the Army life, it’s the first time in my life I’m helping people that really need me.”
I look at him incredulously for a moment before admonishing him.
“How did you manage in training on the ranges then? They told us if we failed to reach a certain standard we would be back squadded and remain in training until we pass a certain standard.”
“That’s a joke.” He replies. “I am hopeless with a rifle. I never hit a blooming thing let alone the target. The Sergeant in charge of the shooting range told me not to worry I’d only be digging shit holes anyway. He said. “Nobody in their right mind would turn me loose with a rifle and live ammunition anyway unless they were mad, the lousy bugger.”
“I don’t know why the Corporal took me with him when we went scouting I was going to admit I couldn’t hit a barn door at two feet. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” Billy unexpectedly clammed up, I think with embarrassment. I try to lift him out of his dreary mood by answering in a joking manner.
“Yes I remember when you attacked the Scots single handed. You have to admit Bill it was funny?” Ha-ha!’
“Well I couldn’t tell whether they were bloody Germans with their bloody accents. I’d never heard Scottish people talking before, they sounded foreign to me.” He sulkily replies.
Billy resents me reminding him of his little misadventure.
Still chuckling at the thought of him bursting out of the bushes into the arms of the mad Jocks I advise him. “You daft sod Bill you trust the Sergeant and Corporal don’t you? I mean Staff and Sergeant?”
He agrees.
“Then tell them everything, blimey you can wear glasses in the job you’re doing. The best of it is the Army will supply them, it won’t cost you a penny, go and do it now.”
“You’re right, I will, thanks Scouse.” He leaps up from the bunk and disappears at a rapid pace towards the NCOs tents.
About a half-hour later he returns with a wide smile adorning his face. “Thanks again Scouse, everything is sorted out. I’m going on something called a cadre course tomorrow at that camp we started off in when we first landed. Do you remember burying them horses and getting pissed on the bottles of wine the Colonel gave us? Yeah! It wasn’t a bad camp was it?”
“That’s great Bill, I do remember the camp we were just sprogs then. I know you’ll do well on the course. It will be nice to get a break anyway, who’s doing your job while you’re away? I hope it’s not me.”
“No. No.” He laughs. “One of the NCC lads is stepping in until I return he used to work for an animal vet. I hope they have him treating the Officers. Ha-ha!”
One morning about two weeks later I have orders to take my bits and pieces cart to the German enclosure. One of the RAMC Doctors has been operating on the prisoners and needs to have the off cuts removed.
The surly MP’s allow me to enter only after I show them a written order. I must admit being nervous in their presence as I remember the warning the old sweat gave me. Another thing concerning me, this will be the closest to the real enemy I have been, except Oscar of course. I push the cart passed the brick building the MPs are using as a cellblock. I follow the track that takes me to the German compound sited further away.
As I pass the building I clearly hear someone sobbing inside, and another harsh voice criticising him for bringing the situation upon himself. Feigning a problem with one of the wheels, I attempt to stop and listen, however the escorting MP brusquely orders me on to the surgeon’s tent.
I try asking the MP “what’s happening in there?” I receive a response I should have expected from an MP.
