by Carl Leckey
“Mind your own bleeding business and get on with your job you nosy little turd.”
Passing through another guarded gate I am finally in the POW compound.
The MP leaves me to make my own way towards the large tent. On arrival I park the cart outside the closed flap, not daring to enter, after a few moments waiting I cough nervously.
The tent flap draws back and Oscar greets me like a long lost brother. We are so happy to meet up again as we chat outside the tent smoking my cigarettes. He informs me what has happened to him since we last met. “Your intelligence chaps interrogated me for a long time. They wanted me to divulge secrets of the German positions and other information. Of course I refused and told them exactly what I told the Scottish Sergeant Major. They kept me locked up over in that brick store room for a week or so. The MP’s are not very nice fellows. I have to admit they are very similar to ours in the German army. In fact I believe they are the same the world over, they don’t fight themselves, but God help anyone they find refusing. After a while German prisoners began arriving and they moved me into this compound using me to interpret for the Doctors.”
“What happened to the other interpreter, the Scottish lad you were with the last time I saw you? You seemed to be getting on quite well with him.”
I enquire. “Hmm, that is a bit embarrassing.” He replies. “The poor lad could hardly speak any German he knew only a few short phrases. His stupid superiors pushed him into the job, and the poor fellow didn’t know how to extract himself from the situation.
I didn’t want to inform on him, he is a nice lad. I covered up his lack of fluency in my native tongue by pretending some of the prisoners have regional accents hard to understand even by me. Eventually he was found out by of all people a Padre, who promptly reported him. They disciplined the poor lad and shipped him off to the front line immediately.
Remember me requesting a meeting with the Corporal or Sergeant urgently?” I nod.
“Well that’s what I wanted to tell them. I’m sure they would have helped him out of the mess he inadvertently found himself in. They are good men you know? I believe that your own Corporals and Sergeants recommendation assisted me to achieve my position with the Doctors here. How are they by the way?”
“They have been promoted both of them, and my mate Billy.”
I tell him proudly, “and another thing, there is someone working in the casualty unit, a fellow named Sandy, He believes he knows you from before the war, reckons you taught at his school in about 1912?
Sandy told me you were a pacifist then, and spoke about the horror and futility of war at his college. You certainly influenced him anyway he refuses to fight and is now a member of the None Combatant Corp serving as stretcher bearer. Poor fella’s been wounded a couple of times and they will most probably send him to the front line as soon as he’s fit again.” Oscar looks puzzled. “I don’t recall the name, but I would sure like to meet him if possible. Oh! Be on your alert, the Officer is on the way.”
An Officer with the rank of Captain approaches. I salute him smartly he returns my salute with a kind of vague wave.
“Are you the lad for the tripe and onions?” He asks.
I am confused about his meaning, but believe it prudent to answer. “Yes Sir.”
“Oscar, give him a hand, there’s a good chap. I’ve been using an old pickling barrel, but I’m afraid she’s topped up now, it’s hidden behind the tent, it puts folk orf the meals you see. Haw, haw. The damn thing is starting to pong a bit don’t you know? I could do with a disposal hole myself the number of amputations I’m doing. Have to see someone about getting one dug down here. Besides, some of the chaps object to their discarded bits being mixed with the old Jerry parts. They are enemy bits after all. What? Ha-ha!”
He enters the tent chuckling to himself, Oscar shakes his head. I don’t think he approves of the Officer’s sense of humour, he whispers.
“He’s not a bad chap really, just been hardened with dealing with so much horror.”
We struggle to lift and empty the barrel, the array of body parts, blood, and soiled bandages slosh into the tin lined cart as we finally tip it. I feel nauseous as the stench hits me and struggle to hold down my last meal. I quickly cover the unwholesome contents with a piece of canvas I have acquired, and with Oscar’s help we tie it securely down.
The cover thankfully masks the smell and the sight of the abominable contents. The gruesome task completed I prepare to leave as Oscar whispers. “Try and get permission to come down here and dig the hole for him, bring the other chap Sandy with you if you can.”
The Officer’s voice interrupts our conversation.
“Oscar I need you old chap, this one is coming around and I haven’t got a clue what the poor chap is asking me.” We hurriedly shake hands and part.
When I arrive at the end of the compound, I have to wait at the wire gate until an MP strolls across to let me out. There were only four or five German prisoners in the compound all showing signs of injury, either sporting crutches or bandages, I do not feel threatened by their presence, unlike the MPs.
As I push the cart towards the storage shed cum jail, the MP demands to know what I have hidden under the cover.
He questions me. “You are not smuggling one of those Boche bastards out are you, toe rag?”
I inwardly giggle and consider replying. “I’m smuggling one of the Germans out in bits and pieces you daft sod.” but I decide to be more cautious and answer, “Hospital things Corp.”
“Our Sergeant will insist on a search you know? We don’t trust you hospital bastards down here. He reckons you are a Lilly livered lot.”
As we arrive at the last gate a Sergeant with two other MPs emerge out of the Guard post tent, he pokes at the cart with a drill stick.
“What have we here you little shit? Remove this cover right way.”
Shaking in my boots I reply. “I don’t think that’s a good idea Sergeant.”
“Are you refusing to obey a direct order? I’ll have your guts for garters you little shit, this is your last chance remove that cover now or.”
Before he continues with his threat, I loosen the ties and fling back the cover.
Smirking their superiority over a mere private they examine the contents.
One after another, as they recognise what is contained in the cart, they step back and wretch their hearts up. I carefully re-cover the cart and trundle on my way whistling a happy tune.
Chapter ten
British army justice
Next morning I hear it. I ask my mates “what was that?” They all heard it even above the continuous gunfire thundering from the front line, we identify it as a crescendo of rifle fire nearby.
For a moment my heart misses a beat, is the war closing in on us? We are making our way down to the cookhouse for breakfast at this moment.
Dawn has just broken as the fusillade of shots rang out. The duty Sergeant of the day stands by the trestle table. As the queue moves closer I overhear his remark to the cook Sergeant, “Well at least the poor bugger is out of it now. God, I hate this part of Army life, I had to serve on one of the firing squads once, I still have nightmares about the poor bugger standing alone against that post shitting himself I hope I never have to do that again?”
The cook Sergeant sympathetically agrees with him “At least us cooks don’t have to kill our own chaps with rifles. We see enough of them off with our cooking.” Typical Army black humour they use to cover their unease at an unpopular duty.
I finish my breakfast and make my way to the operating tent to check if my cart needs emptying. Sandy had been roped in as a reliable man by the Corporal to carry out Billy’s job in his absence.
As there is no one in authority about, we take the opportunity to have a chat and catch up on war gossip.
When I tell him about Oscar he becomes very excited. We rack our brains to think of a way of getting down to the German compound in order meet him together. As the Staff appears h
eading towards us I see my chance.
“Staff, may I have a word, if you’re not too busy?”
“Been looking for you lad, what is it you want?”
I tell him my story. “I went down to the German compound the other day picking up bits and pieces from the operating tent they have down there.
The Officer said something about me digging a disposal hole for him. It makes sense. It will save me trundling his off cuts all the way up here Staff. The Doctor reckons he is going to see somebody about it, has he been in touch yet Staff?”
“No he hasn’t, I’ll look into it and let you know as soon as I can. Look here lad, I have a job for you this morning. It’s a bit different to your normal tasks, not a very pleasant one either. Empty your cart and take it down to the MPs cellblock, you know where I mean?”
“Yes Staff.”
“Leave the cart and go for a walk, when you return it will be loaded. I want you to take what’s in it and drop it in that new hole you have dug and completely bury it understand. Don’t put anything else in with it will you? You will have to dig another hole afterwards. Before you ask lad, it’s a body, it will be wrapped up, drop it in as it is, understand? Take this fellow with you to assist.” He points at Sandy.
“Sorry you have to do this lad, but I think you are the best man for the job. I’m giving some weekend passes out at pay parade, you two are top of the list, I’ll clear it with the CO, carry on chaps.”
Sandy walks with me to the disposal hole, there are only a few bits in the cart and they are soon dealt with. We take the cart as ordered to the cellblock and leave it in the charge of an MP Lance Corporal.
“Be back in ten minutes you two, now get lost.” He orders.
We stroll towards the German compound hoping to catch a glimpse of Oscar, unfortunately he is nowhere about, a missed opportunity to solve a puzzle.
An MP blows a whistle attracting our attention, and gestures us over. When we arrive the horrible MP Sergeant stands by the cart.
“Here you are you pair of Shits, a cart full of rubbish to be disposed of, see if you can slip that piece of shit in with it.” He glares at Sandy as he makes this remark.
The Lance Corporal sniggers.
I reply “Ok Sergeant I’ll do my best,” As I pick up the shafts of the cart I find I can’t help myself. “Feeling better are you Sarg? Must have been something you all ate yesterday that upset the old tum eh?”
I leave him crimson faced and fuming, I hum a happy tune as we make our way to the disposal hole.
Sandy makes a funny remark. “Bit strange this, if the body is one of our men, he would be interred in a military gravesite, and the same applies if he is a German casualty.” He ponders for a moment then snaps his fingers.
“That is unless he died of an infectious disease. I don’t quite understand why the MPs were involved. Unless? Unless? Got it, did you hear that rifle fire this morning at sunrise?”
“Yes.” I agree. “I wondered about that lot.”
“Well, I believe this poor bugger in here has been shot by firing squad, I reckon he is one of ours, executed by his own side.”
It all came to me in a flash, I told him about someone sobbing in the cellblock. The Padre’s driver’s remarks that he made a while ago, that the Holy Joe only came close to the front line to give the last rites to the poor souls before they execute them. The conversation I overhead between our Sergeant and the cook at breakfast time, it all made sense now.
Sandy does not speak for a while, suddenly, as if to himself, he murmurs
“I can’t allow this poor chap to go on his final journey without” He stops in mid sentence and orders me. “Keep going Scouse. I want to get something from my tent. I’ll meet you up at the burial site.”
I carry on mystified, he arrives just after me. In his hand he holds a bible.
“‘I am not letting a poor lost soul go to meet his maker without saying a few words over him, is that ok by you?”
I reply. “Of course not I’m glad you thought of it. What do you want me to do? I’ve never been to a funeral.”
He thinks for a moment before suggesting. “I reckon we should bury him like a sailor who was killed and buried at sea. As I read the prayer, you slowly tip the cart until he slides into the grave. Come on Scouse let’s give him a bit of dignity in his last moments on the face of the earth eh? Sod them callous bastards that did this to the poor chap.”
We are conducting what I believe is a decent ceremony when disaster strikes. I remove the headboard from the front of the cart and commence raising the shafts as Sandy begins reciting a prayer. As I tip the cart the winding sheet catches on a sprung nail, the body carries on sliding, the sheet begins to tear.
With a thud the corpse drops into the unconventional grave, the tattered sheet remains hanging onto the cart. The body lands in a standing position at one side of the hole.
“Oh! My God.” I cry in horror as I catch a glimpse of the dead soldier’s anguished face and his chest ripped apart by bullets. The chap in the hole is none other than my best mate Tommy, my school boy classmate, my bosom pal.
I collapse on the side of the hole breaking my heart crying. All I can bring myself to say in reply to Sandy’s concerned questions is.
“It’s my mate Tommy, the bastards have killed him. Poor Tommy’s only my age, sixteen years old and he is shot by his own side, how could they do this? What about his poor mother? Oh! God! His poor mother! Poor Tommy!” Then I break down completely.
Sandy good man that he is untangles the sheet from the cart and leaps into the hole. He straightens my friend out on the bottom, crosses Tommy’s arms over his chest, laid his bible on the body close to his hands, and covers his poor mutilated, lifeless, body with the sheet. I can’t carry on, this is the worst day of my life
Sandy takes charge and does everything from then on? He leads me away from the grave, sits me down by a tree, and commences backfilling the grave. I remain in a totally confused state, trying to grasp the reality of the situation, when the Sergeant arrives.
He takes one look at my tear stained face as I huddle by the tree.
He appears about to speak to me, changes his mind and walks over to Sandy, to stand by him as he replaces the last of the turf.
They speak in hushed voices for a while then the Sergeant comes over to me. I climb to my feet.
“All right lad?” He enquires. I couldn’t help myself from blurting out. “Why did they have to shoot Tommy? You know them bastard MPs? They referred to him as a piece of rubbish. He is only a kid Sarg, and a good kid, all he ever wanted to do with his life was to join the Army, and they’ve done this to him.
His poor mother, what will they tell her Sarg? It will break her heart. He’s all she has you see. Tommy’s Dad got killed in the Boer War, now this.”
“Sixteen isn’t he?” The Sergeant asks. “He was the same age as you lad?” I nod my agreement as I find it difficult to speak as emotion overwhelms me.
“What the Hell are you doing mixed up in this madness lad?”
He shakes his head. “Do you want me to see the Colonel about getting you out?”
Aghast at the idea of leaving my mates I quickly reply.
“No please don’t Sarg, I love it here with you lot, despite everything. There isn’t much of a life at home for me, please don’t tell the Colonel, Sarg.”
He thinks for a moment before he speaks. “Right lad, I won’t tell the Colonel if you’re sure?” I thank him and he continues.
“What I will do is try and keep you with us until you are at least eighteen ok? That’s if this bloody war lasts that long?”
“Thanks Sarg, I appreciate that.” Sandy hesitantly came over.
The Sergeant turns to face him. “I watched what happened from over there.” He points to some trees. “The Staff asked me to keep an eye on you two. I didn’t interfere when I saw what you did Sandy, with the bible and all. You are a good kind man and I appreciate what you did for these two kids.” He
shook hands with Sandy.
“Don’t forget the Staff has arranged weekend passes for you both. You can take your leave in a rest area, by a village about ten miles away, I’ll arrange transport. Billy’s back later today he will be taking over his old job. Good luck lads, enjoy your weekend, carry on.”
The Sergeant left us to our own devices.
Chapter eleven
After Tommy
Sandy and I leave poor Tommy’s grave and head back to the operating tent. I thank Sandy for all he has done for Tommy and me. He places his hand on my shoulder and says. “That’s what true friends do for each other, glad to have been here when you needed me.”
I still feel terrible about Tommy’s death, but gradually my sorrow turns to anger, as we walk, we talk. “You know Sandy, I heard poor Tommy crying in the cells yesterday. Of course I didn’t know it was him at the time, in a way I’m glad I didn’t know. What could I have done to help? On the other hand I would like to have spent his last hours with him. He must have felt very much alone in that cell, with only them bastard MPs for company.”
A thought struck me. “He wasn’t alone all the time come to think of it.”
I told Sandy about the voices that I had heard when I passed the cells yesterday. “That would have been the Padre you heard.” He explains.
“All condemned prisoners are entitled to see a Priest or the like, before their execution. I suppose to prepare them for the next world and to give comfort. Maybe it helps salve the conscience of the guilty people that condemn them to death in such a terrible manner.” “Well I can tell you that lousy bastard wasn’t comforting Tommy, in fact he laid it on that Tommy had brought it on himself.” I retort angrily. “Eh! That reminds me. I saw the shit when we first arrived. He treated his driver like a piece of dirt. It’s no wonder the man hates his rotten guts” I muse more or less to myself. “I bet it’s the same Padre that reported the Scottish interpreter Oscar is on about? What a supreme shit, I’ll have to find a way of making that sod suffer for Tommy’s sake.” I direct the next question to my companion. “I want to find out why they shot Tommy? How will I be able to do that Sandy, any ideas?” “That’s a big one Scouse, you will have to give me time to think about it. I can’t ask anyone direct but I do have a few friends I will contact if possible. Tell you what Scouse, what’s done is done, and sure as Hell we can’t change it at this stage of the game. Let’s try and cheer ourselves up. What about this weekend pass then? Wonder what the village is like we are going to? A chance for a little drop of wine and maybe a little French Cheri eh! Scouse? Give me an opportunity to practice my lingo. Ha, ha. I’m really looking forward to this leave. This is the first real pass I’ve had since joining up.”
