by Carl Leckey
It’s all arranged by the Sergeant when we report to the company office, a transport truck going for supplies on Friday, will take us there and pick us up on Sunday afternoon.
Chapter twelve
Rest and relaxation?
We jump into the back of the truck and collapse with laughter as it trundles off with a jerk as we finish up in a tangled heap. It feels just like the Sunday school trips I enjoyed before the war. Sandy behaves like a kid, twittering with excitement. A couple of hours bumping along pot holed roads constantly having to stop and let advancing transport pass, quelled our excitement slightly.
The driver drops us at the end of a lane, informing me as I thank him
“The camp is up the way a bit. I’ll pick you up here four o’clock Sunday afternoon don’t miss me or you will have to walk.”
We trudge up the lane until we arrive at a barbed wire, fenced field, containing rows of tents. Guarding the gate are MPs. My heart falls at the sight of them, the only dealings I have had so far with MPs seem to be horrible ones.
I find it hard to believe that these men may have once been decent individuals, yet when they put that uniform on they were transformed into right bullies. I suppose there must have been some decent ones, but up to now I haven’t met any.
An uneasy feeling creeps over me about this weekend, as soon as I see the MP in charge. The Sergeant scrutinises our passes then points towards a tent ordering us
“Report to the Corporal over there he’ll tell you all about parades, drill, duties, and inspections. Enjoy your little holiday men, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” His mate laughs at his snide joke.
I ask them before heading to the orderly tent. “Where’s the village, how do we get there?”
“Tut Tut.” He answers. “Naughty private soldiers don’t go out of the camp, they would only get themselves into trouble. Only H’officers are allowed to visit the village. This is where you spend your leave and don’t try any funny tricks like slipping out, hear me?”
As we make our way to the tent, columns of men march about like toy soldiers, controlled by NCO drill instructors screaming orders. I shudder as memories of that horrible training camp return.
Up on a hill over-looking the tent lines is magnificent ivy covered Chateau commanding the area.
The Corporal is a typical training camp NCO, waxed moustached and bull necked. Where does the Army find them I wonder? I never seemed to see characters similar to these in civvy- street.
Sandy and I stand to attention in front of him as he checks our passes and pay books. Suddenly he appears to go into a kind of convulsion. Veins throb on his neck, his face turns crimson, for a moment he looks as if he is about to explode.
He screams at me “Where’s your rifle you orrible little excuse for a man?” This man really terrifies me.
I find myself stuttering in terror, until finally after a great effort I blurt
“Our Staff Sergeant took it off me Corporal I’m not allowed to have one in the hospital area.”
“You are not in the bleedin hospital now you orrible piece of shit, you’re on a fizzer. And you, you’re a bleeding disgrace you conchy bastard, I suppose you think you’re here to rest your poor mind eh? You conchie bleeders make me sick, big talkers, big thinkers, but no bollocks.”
Sandy remains silent as the fusillade of insults, interspersed with foul oaths, rain down on him. When the deranged NCO runs out of steam, Sandy speaks.
“Beg your pardon. I see you have a decoration Corporal?”
Surprised the Corporal looks down at his chest where the solitary ribbon adorns his uniform.
“Long Service and Good Conduct isn’t it?” Sandy inquires.
“Of course it is.” He proudly replies. “What is it to do with a shit like you anyway?”
“I am just wondering if you have been in the Army so long, why you are still only a Corporal?” The man blushes. Sandy continues much to my apprehension. “I bet some shits got it in for you eh?”
The brain dead idiot agrees.
“I don’t see any campaign medals either? You’ve not seen any action yet then? Such a pity that it’s great fun, we’ve just come from the front line ourselves. It’s better than being stuck here miles away from all the excitement. I pity you missing all the real action and the chance of a quick promotion.”
The Bully’s attitude dramatically changes. “I keep on requesting a transfer to active service.” He responds in a hard done to voice.
“The Brass insists I stay here and whip these lazy buggers into shape. You know you’re the first one that appreciates what I have to put up with? Now let’s see what jobs I can find for you two.
No rifles, so no drill, that’s out of the question, um I know, Officers mess. Right you two, make your way up to the Officers mess and see the Sergeant there, he’ll put you right.”
He hands me a chit of paper and takes out movement orders and passes from the pay books.
“In case you are thinking of doing a bit of runner lads. You get caught out of this here camp without these and you’ll get yourselves shot for desertion.” He explains with an ugly grin. Another group of soldiers arrive, and he dismisses us. When we are well clear of his tent I congratulate my mate.
“Bloody Hell Sandy, you didn’t half push your luck back there. I nearly shit myself I don’t mind telling you. God he was an ugly so and so, I wouldn’t fancy getting on the wrong side of that swine.”
Sandy responds with a short laugh. “You have just witnessed a bit of psychology my boy. I have made a study of Bully’s and developed tactics to beat them, that bonehead is no challenge, believe me I have dealt with worse ones than him? I wonder where this Officers mess is then my old mate. I’m looking forward to some good tucker and a decent bed to kip in?”
“Some weekend leave this is.” I complain. “I don’t think the Staff Sergeant realises where he’s sent us. I would have sooner stayed at the casualty station, at least they only scream in pain there. Nobody screams and shouts like the bloody power crazed swine do in this place.”
Sandy points to the Chateau. “That’s got to be the mess up there, let’s go and get away from this lunatic asylum.”
We hurry up the hill, dodging ranks of men in full kit drilling on every available piece of open field. Red-faced NCO’s scream orders at the tired looking troops.
When we arrive at the imposing building, a notice points other ranks to the back door. The upper classes evidently don’t take kindly to ordinary human beings using the same entrance as them. On entering the back door we find ourselves in a long corridor, as we pass along I peer into the open doors of the rooms leading off. Vegetables are being prepared in the first one, meat and poultry in the next. Fish being dissected on wooden benches came next.
Last of all a fiendish looking place with clouds of steam bellowing about, water slopping on the floor, in amongst this Hell men scraped pans and washed dishes and cutlery.
“A place to keep away from at all costs,” warns Sandy.
At the very end of the corridor we enter a huge kitchen. The heat is unbearable as coal fired stoves roar away, chefs perform their culinary magic. Minions hurry about, fetching and carrying on the shouted instructions of the chefs.
Sandy advises. “Leave the talking to me Scouse, we don’t want to finish up in that dish washing Hell Hole all weekend do we?”
I am quite happy for Sandy to speak on my behalf. He is certainly more worldly- wise, the way he dealt with that admittance Corporal really impressed me.
An Army cook Sergeant comes over to us. “Right lads, you the two they promised to send up?”
“Yes Sergeant.” We acknowledge and hand him the chit from the admittance Corporal. “Have you any experience working in kitchens, hotels, cafes, anything like that?” He asks.
Sandy answers immediately. “As a matter fact we work as waiters at the Officers mess at the er, hospital Sergeant.”
The Sergeant beams. “At last my prayers are answered.” H
e looks up at the ceiling and says. “Thank you Lord.” He lists his problems
“Tonight is mess night. I really need some experienced waiters this evening, nine courses to serve and seventy Officers to feed.”
Sandy sympathises with him. “Jeez Sarg, how do you manage? You’re a bloody hero.” The Sergeant responds to a sympathetic ear by unloading his troubles on Sandy.
“I’ve got a mixture of idiots and Froggies, it’s bloody chaos here. Them sods don’t give a shit about my problems, they think they’re at Claridges, not at the front line in a war.”
Sandy tuts understandingly. “I know what you mean Sarg, it’s just the same in the mess we work in, our cook Sergeant is out of his mind with worry.”
The Sergeant carries on raving. “They don’t care just as long as their gourmet food is served on time and they are waited on hand and foot.”
Sandy reckons it is time to curtail the Sergeants moaning session.
“Right Sarg, what do you want us to do, anything to lighten your load?”
The sergeant smiles and says. “Follow me. We’ve just finished lunch, and there is a mess dinner with very important guests being held in here at 20.00 hrs tonight.” He leads us to an enormous room.
“I need the big table setting up in this here banqueting hall. I’ve never done it before. The French servants are still here, but them buggers are no help to me. Of course the rich bastards that own the place flew the coop soon as the war got close to them. Trouble is, I can’t understand the Froggies and they can’t understand me. I am unable to give em orders you see?”
I cut him off. “Bye Jove Sarg, it’s your lucky day indeed, Sandy here speaks French, German and another few languages thrown in, he even speaks some Scouse, ha ha.”
The minute I impart this information we can’t do any wrong in the Sergeants eyes. Sandy assembles the French staff and translates the cook’s orders. After they understand his intentions, it goes like clockwork, they have evidently organised many big banquets in the past and know exactly what to do.
We find out what our role at the dinner will be, and enquire where we will be sleeping after duties.
“Pick a room in the servants quarters, there’s plenty of empty ones, remind me how long are you lads here for?”
When we reveal we leave on Sunday he looks very disappointed and asks. “Tell you what lads? If it all works out tonight how would you like to stay here permanent like? I definitely need someone who can translate for me, the bloody chefs only speak French.”
I decline the offer immediately. I didn’t want to spend my time in the Army kissing upper class twits arseholes. Sandy on the other hand requests more time to think on it.
“Let me know your decision when the dinner is over then, ok?”
After making this offer the Sergeant leaves and returns to his kitchen. Sandy’s is enjoying his role as an interpreter and is in his element with the French servants. They set to right away, assembling the big banqueting table, as they work they laugh and joke with him.
Sandy enlightens me, before the war he taught in a private boarding school. Part of his duties entailed organising the catering for three hundred pupils plus staff. Sorting out the mess for seventy diners is no big deal in his opinion.
He leaves me to my own devices and goes off with a couple of the French servants, to be honest I feel a bit jealous at being left out of things.
Another thing that rankles me is the fact that he has even contemplated staying here rather than returning to the dressing station.
It appears Sandy has made the decision without discussing it with me.
I assumed with his hatred of the class system, this is the last place on earth he would choose to be.
There is really nothing for me to do in the great hall, every time I start a task, one of the French bustles me out of the way. In the end I wander around looking at the paintings and tapestries adorning the walls.
Sandy finally notices me. “Tell you what Scouse, fancy going into the garden and picking some flowers to decorate the table.”
I fly at him in a rage. “Do you think I volunteered for the Army to pick bloody flowers to make a load of shit Officers happy? I’m surprised at you Sandy, sucking up to these bastards. I really am?”
He smiles and indicates a window. “I’ll explain my tactics later. I have to strike while the iron is hot. In the meanwhile take a peep outside, you might get to like the job of picking flowers.”
I reluctantly make my way to the window and look out. I must admit my heart gives a bit of a flutter. There, in the area at the back of the Chateau are three pretty French girls hanging out washing. The borders surrounding the cobbled courtyard consist of beautifully maintained flowerbeds.
These are the first females I have seen since landing in France.
“Regardez la femmes, Scouse.” Even though he spoke in French I knew what he meant, a strange longing feeling overcomes me.
Sandy whispers. “Things are looking up here for us poor little shits. We should get some good food, a decent place to sleep, and maybe as a bonus, a cuddle or two. Away, you go and do your best, but save the tall one for me.”
Sandy grins and slaps my back. He explains to one of the French what he requires. The man gives me a wicker basket and a pair of scissors.
Chapter thirteen
I meet Denise
I wander nonchalantly into the garden passing as close as possible to the girls without appearing to notice them. My legs are all of a quiver. Two of the girls boldly shout remarks at me, which of course I don’t understand. The other one, the smallest of the three, hides shyly behind the sheets.
I pretend to ignore them and proceed to the flowerbeds and commence cutting flowers, any flowers. I haven’t a clue what to select, they all look good to me, the girls call again and began to giggle. I become very embarrassed and know I am blushing. Unbeknown to me they have been shouting a warning, Sandy, watching proceedings from the window confirms it later.
Suddenly, I hear a male voice howling in French. I look up from the flowers to see an enraged old man bearing down on me. He stops within inches of where I kneel, and bombards me with a stream of high speed, angry French. There is no way I am able to understand a word he is saying, and sit on the ground dumbstruck.
My silence appears to incense him even more, for he grabs the scissors and kicks the basket, then storms off muttering to himself.
Two of the girls shriek with laughter, until an elderly female appears at the door and says something to them.
They gather their washing baskets up and disappear into the house.
With no scissors and a definite warning to lay off the flowers, I am at a loss of what to do next.
“Tommy.” A soft voice whispers from behind the sheets.
“Can you hear me?”
Oh! What a wonderful voice, so soft so inviting and what a beautiful accent she has. I am in love, I know it is so, this is what it feels like. My heart is fit to burst.
After all the horrors I have experienced since arriving in France, I am so close to something pure and wonderful.
I’m all of a dither when I answer. “Yes.”
“It is my Grandfather you have upset. He allows no one to touch his precious flower garden, do you understand?”
“I am sorry.” I reply. “I didn’t know, what is your name?” I blurt out. “Denise.” She answers.
God that voice, it rings as sweet as a nightingale’s song in my ears.
“May I come over and talk to you.” I plead.
“No, no. You mustn’t.” Alarm sounds in her voice. “Grandfather will be so angry, I must have no contact with soldiers do you understand?”
I feel a fool talking to a sheet but who cares I am in love.
“How old are you?” I inquire.
“Fifteen and six months.” Comes her answer.
“How do you know English?” I just need to keep that sweet voice talking to me.
“My mother is English she is dead many
years now, I must go now or Grandfather will be very angry again.”
I beg her. “Can I meet you again? Just to talk you understand?” I add hastily.
A musical laugh rings out. “I shall be here at the same time tomorrow, I really must leave now.”
The sheet flutters slightly, a hand appears, a little wave and she is gone.
I rush back inside and find Sandy. He inquires. “Where’s the flowers?”
I start to explain when I notice a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face, I stop in full flow.
He admits. “I witnessed the lot from the window, thought the old fellow was going to kill you, we were getting ready to do a rescue. Hey! Did you know the girls were trying to warn you? Not bad looking girls either, I noticed you were well away with the young one.”
I feel myself blushing again, a problem I have suffered with since first noticing girls. “God Sandy, she has such a gorgeous voice. I hardly saw her, but that girl’s voice? I’m meeting her outside, same time tomorrow.”
“Romance hasn’t got much of a future for you though as it Scouse.” “Why?” I enquire, with hurt registering in my voice. Sandy pauses for a moment as if weighing his reply. “Well you will be going back to the war on Sunday, how can you romance a girl from the base station? Mind you, the Sergeant has made you a very good offer, don’t forget” ’
I don’t want to discuss this prospect, so I change the subject.
