by Carl Leckey
“Have you found a job for me yet? Not bloody flower picking though.” We laugh. “Yes you can wait on the table with the French servants and me.”
I begin to object. “I have no experience of waiting on tables, don’t forget these bastards will be all Officers, I don’t fancy fetching and carrying for those buggers?”
“‘Don’t worry, I’ll show you what to do, try to go with the flow Scouse. Let’s make the most of a couple of days away from the real world of war at the station eh?”
He offers to show me what to do. I have to agree, we are certainly well fed, clean and comparatively safe at the chateau.
Before the dinner we select a room to share in the servant’s quarters, it is luxury indeed compared to what we are used to in the Army up to now.
There is hot and cold running water on tap in the room, and a bathroom and toilet on the landing. After we clean ourselves up dressed in Army issue waiter’s coats, we return to the banqueting hall.
In our absence the French staff has already laid out the table with silver candlesticks cutlery and vases of beautiful flowers. The cook Sergeant in charge of the messing arrangements assembles us together.
Jobs are allocated to the Army personnel while the waiters consist of the French, Sandy and myself. My job, thankfully, is not to serve, but I am trusted to clear empty plates, seems a job I am capable of doing without any training.
I relax for the first time since arriving, although the girl Denise is constantly on my mind, I find myself unconsciously looking out of the windows, hoping to get a glimpse of her at every free moment.
Seven o’clock the Officers and guests begin arriving, the extreme end of the hall has been adopted as a pre meal bar.
Into the room they stream stopping at the bar to slop booze down their necks as fast as they empty their glasses. It makes me sick to see how they behave, when not more than twenty miles or so away men die, up to their necks in filth. I feel guilty about being here, and carry out my duties of collecting empty glass reluctantly.
Mixed in amongst the splendid dress uniforms, are men dressed in civilian clothes. Inadvertently, I begin overhearing the conversations around me.
The only mention of the war front consists of complaints about the unwillingness of the soldiers to push forward and take enemy positions.
I feel more and more disgusted when I overhear two civilians discussing the reduction in profits since the Americans entered the war.
Then I spot him, the bloody Padre, the same one who spent the last hours with Tommy. Rage overwhelms me as I move towards him collecting empties. He is surrounded by a group of young Officers and civilians, holding forth about his exacting roll in the Army.
I edge even closer to hear him complaining about the lack of guts and fighting spirit in the common soldier.
“Only a few days ago, I had to go again up to the front line. Yes the very front line because a slovenly soldier has just walked away from his post, never tried to hide or sneak off. Just dropped his rifle and walked away bold as you please. Hum. Know what the damn fool said when they grabbed him?”
The audience shake their heads. “He said.” here the unfeeling shit pauses for effect, when he is sure he has the undivided attention of everyone he continued, “Would you believe the cheek of the man? The stupid fellow said. “I’m going home, I’m tired.”
The whining swine cried like a baby when I told him how foolish he was. His defence Officer pleaded that same old story of shell shock. Hum, the Yanks can believe their chaps about shell shock, but we are having none of it, I can tell you.”
This is my mate Tommy he is discussing, I felt like smacking the arrogant swine with a tray.
One of the civilians asks. “What happened to the poor chap?” I trace a note of sympathy in his voice.
“Poor chap you say? The bounder was an outright coward. Can’t have chaps going home whenever they want, what?”
“But what happened to him?” The inquirer persisted.
“They shot the damn fool of course, what else can one do with a coward?”
I have had enough of this shit, I need to walk away or I’ll surely hit the swine, angrier than ever I have to get out of that room.
Sandy intercepts me as I head for the door. “Where are you off to Scouse? We’ll be serving the hogs in about half an hour.”
As I try to explain tears of anger well up in my eyes.
“It’s that bastard Padre. He is telling that lot how brave he is going up to the front line to see a poor soldier shot. If I had a gun now I’d shoot the bleeder myself? We have got to do something about him Sandy, or I swear I’ll hang for the arrogant swine.”
“It’s all in hand Scouse trust me, I met his driver you know the one he treats so badly? He told me the sod lives here like a king on a permanent basis, supposed to be the chaplain for the front line troops, but hardly moves away from here. He does a church parade Sunday that’s about all, do you know he ordered his driver to work in the worst place here? That room we passed were they are cleaning all the pans and things.
Here’s another thing the poor driver is his family chauffeur from before the war, that shit volunteered him and his Rolls for ambulance duty.
We have cooked something up between us to sort the shit out. I’ll explain later. Whoops, look out, here’s one of those civilian bods behind you. It looks like he is coming our way.”
Chapter fourteen
The caring politician
The civilian that asked the Padre questions about Tommy approaches.
As I turn around to face him, I notice for the first time he is aided by a walking stick, and walks with a pronounced limp.
“May I have a quiet word?” He directed the question towards me.
“Erm, er, I don’t know, we have to serve the meal shortly sir.”
I am loath to become involved with any associate of the lousy Padre.
“May I introduce myself?” He asks.
Sandy answers for me he knows how angry I am. “I believe I know who you are Sir, you are a Labour Member of Parliament. Please excuse my friend he is a bit upset at the moment.”
“That’s what I would like to talk to him about. I noticed him when that idiot was sounding off. It was obvious to me his stupidity upset this lad. Maybe if I explain why I am here it will help you to accept me. I am on a fact-finding tour with a parliamentary committee, and wish to talk to as many soldiers as possible.
Unfortunately, my itinerary is arranged by the war department, who seem to think the Officer class, especially a Padre, would give me all the facts I require. I can assure you, they are wrong, I intend to interview real soldiers. Men that have seen action, I need to get a true story of conditions out here from the ordinary soldier’s point of view.”
At that moment a bell rings, and the assembled guests begin heading towards the table and take their seats.
“I am sorry Sir, we have to go now maybe tomorrow would be a better time to talk. It will give my friend time to calm down a bit, but I’m sure he will be willing to tell you anything you want to know. I know I will be if you ask me.”
Sandy makes this last remark pointedly. “Right, tomorrow it is then, after breakfast I would like to talk to the two of you.”
Chapter fifteen
Retribution
The mess dinner. Nine courses they consume, along with vast amounts of wine beer and spirits. The whole proceeding disgusts me, when I think of some of the food and lack of it the front line troops have to endure.
As I pass along the table collecting plates of sometimes hardly touched food, I pick up bits of their conversations. Not much mention of the conditions the front line troops are enduring, just their own hardships appear to concern them.
As I collect plates by the detestable Padre, he complains to everyone in his proximity in a loud drunken voice.
“I haven’t attended a ball since I arrived back from home leave four weeks ago. Mind you, I had a jolly time in blighty. All those delectable ladie
s, hungry for male company, don’t you know? Haw, haw.” The only one declining to wallow in the trough like the rest of the party, is the civilian that spoke to Sandy and I, after only one course he leaves the table.
The last course arrives, brandy and cigars followed by speeches, I wait in attendance for a while as ordered but wishing I could get out of here. God these people are in a different world than the poor Tommy’s.
I am not familiar with the different ranks above Colonel, but there are plenty of high rankers at the dinner. One be-whiskered old fart, rambles on about the inadequacies of the common soldier.
“Half the blighters look like dirty little skinny wogs when we get em, bow legged, scruffy bounders. We couldn’t have turned them loose to fight the enemy in that state, the bounders would have frightened poor old Fritz to death. Haw, haw.” One of his colleagues pipes up.
“That wouldn’t have been cricket eh Sebastian, what? Haw, haw.
“Good job we can build em up with good food and bloody hard training. Not forgetting a taste of good old discipline, before we send em to the front eh?”
The old fart continues. “‘Discipline, that’s what the blighters need. Never been to public school you see, never had a good dose of discipline. Haw, haw.” Cheers of drunken approval greet his statement.
“It’s the taking of prisoners that’s ruining this jolly war don’t you know?”
“What do you mean Sebastian?” One of his drunken comrades enquires. “We should shoot the buggers out of hand, yes that’s what we should do, they did it years ago and we should do it now.”
“Here, here, Sebastian.” The assembled idiots encourage the silly old fart to even more ludicrous opinions. “What damned good is a load of cowardly prisoners to anyone I ask you? We have to feed the blighters, keep em warm and look after the bounders. Total waste of time and resources I say.”
One of the civilians spoke up for the first time. “Surely if we shoot the enemy prisoners they will shoot ours in turn?”
“That’s right old chap, it will put a bit of backbone into the rest of the lazy swine’s, don’t you know they won’t surrender if they know they will be shot. Haw haw.”
“Here, here, Sebastian.” Off he went into another diatribe
“Then we can get down to a real war, how it should be fought, between Gentlemen. I bet the Boche Officers would agree with me if we asked them haw-haw!”
I assume the civilian with the walking stick has left, but he has evidently been listening to the nonsense from outside the doorway.
He reappears and addresses a question to the old idiot Sebastian. “Supposing the Germans, right this minute, surround this place and take us all prisoner, what would you advocate they do with us, shoot the lot of us I suppose?” The idiot blanches, but without hesitation he replies.
“Good God man, this is a HQ. There are General staff stationed here, of course the same thing wouldn’t apply. You don’t believe if the circumstances were reversed, the Boche would want all their General staff shot do you? You wouldn’t understand, not being a military man.” He dismisses the civilian with a look of scorn.
There is much banging of the table after he makes this statement followed by, “here, here, well said Sebastian.” The civilian shakes his head in apparent despair and leaves the room, obviously disgusted with what he has witnessed.
I’d give em discipline the callous sods. If I had a chance I would give em a taste of what poor Tommy got. I raged to myself, the sanctimonious bastards are too much for me.
At the first opportunity I retire to the dish-washing room with the last of the plates. The Padre’s driver stands at a huge sink up to his elbows in greasy water. I go over and give him a hand by stacking the plates to dry when he passes them to me.
After a few words he suddenly giggles. “Did you see that bastard Officer of mine at the hog festival?” Presumably the drivers name for dinner night. “Yes.” I inform him. “The pig is holding forth as usual, he makes me sick.”
“Sick, he’ll be more than sick when I finish with the bastard. Did you actually see him eating food?” He inquires.
“I suppose so I didn’t pay much attention to be honest, the whole load of shits make me want to heave up.”
“I wish I could have seen him actually eating.” The driver says wistfully. A loud whoop followed by a cheer emerges from the direction of the banqueting hall.
“That will be the silly bastards playing mess games.” He remarks.
“Why would you have wanted to see the shit eat? I thought that would have got you even more annoyed?” I ask him, puzzled by his manner.
He laughs and tells me what he’s done during the meal.
“See I have an arrangement with one of the Froggie waiters. Every time he takes a course to the bastard, he pops in here with his plate. Ha, ha. I have a bloody good yock in it. Everyone in this place hates him so much, the rest of the lads join in, it certainly thickens his soup ha, ha. You see lad? I am going to give you a bit of advice that will be useful if you ever reach the dizzy heights of the upper class. Never upset a cook or waiter, or anybody else that has anything to do with your food. Can you believe these brainless bastards they treat us like Shite so they eat Shite compliments of the down trodden classes. The pity is, the bastards seem to enjoy it. But I promise you there’s is more to come, I’ve not finished with the lousy bugger yet.” He places his finger on the side of his nose indicating a secret.
The rest of the English lads working in the awful place, roar with laughter. This is a bit strong for my stomach, and I vacate the place with nausea rising in my throat.
The shenanigans finish about two o’clock in the morning. We have a decent meal of mainly leftover food, clean up and finally finish our work about three o’clock. We have orders to be on duty again at six thirty, a rouser has been arranged to give us a knock at six o’clock.
We are given a candlestick, and a few vestas, then made our way to the bedroom we had selected earlier. Within minutes I blow out the candle and flop in bed, dropping fast asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. I sleep like a log until something disturbs me, I open my eyes to find it is still night.
In the moonlight streaming in through the window I make out a figure moving towards the beds. My throat is constricted with terror as I attempt to warn Sandy, at last I am able to croak a warning.
“Sandy.” I shout “Someone’s coming towards your bed?”
A voice answers. “Shit! Scouse, you frightened the life out of me, I thought you were fast asleep?”
I’m still shaking when I recognise the voice thank goodness it’s only Sandy. “Where have you been?” I inquire.
“Down to the village with a couple of the French lads, I had a bit of business on. It’s four o’clock so I’m getting a bit of shuteye. Don’t forget to make sure I get up at six.”
With that last remark Sandy climbs into his bed, within seconds he is snoring, I sleep fitfully until six o’clock arrives. The lock rattles and the door slowly opens until a head pokes in. “OK! I see you’re awake lads. Up and at em, hands off cocks, on socks ha, ha.”
The usual morning call of nearly all Army rousers, not very original but it still makes me smile.
We carry out our ablutions and are down stairs by twenty past six to be met by the aromatic smell of bacon, fresh bread, and coffee. We receive a huge bacon and egg sandwich and a mug of coffee from a smiling French chef.
Although breakfast for the Officers is available from 0700 there were few about. Only Sandy and I are on the early duty, the Sergeant knows from experience there is no urgency for early breakfast by the Officers especially after a mess night.
The French servants are due to arrive to handle the eight thirty rush.
The duty Officer is first to enter the dining room and sits alone reading a paper while consuming his breakfast. He has nearly finished when a soldier arrives with a written message for him, he gulps his coffee and promptly leaves.
Next to arrive is the limpin
g MP. Sandy and I are sited at the door ready to take orders as they arrive. He greets us then looks around the empty hall. “Where is everyone?” He inquires. We can’t possibly answer his query.
Sandy suggests. “It is Saturday maybe they are having a sleep in.”
The civilian walks to a window and opens it wide, he listens for a while then gestures us over. “What is all that shouting and marching about?” He asks.
“That’s the men on parade being drilled.” Sandy replies.
The man looks puzzled. “I am led to believe this camp is a rest area for the men who have been fighting at the front?”
I blurt out. “So were we when we were sent here, it’s as bad as a training camp down there.”
He enquires. “So this is not your usual posting?” I explain. “No Sir we are from a front line casualty clearing station my mate and I, this is the first leave we have had. Our Colonel seems to think we are going to a village for R and R and we finished up in this Hell hole.”
He takes out a notebook and writes something. I am about to tell him more when the duty Officer returns. He stands inside the doorway scanning the situation then glares at us.
Suddenly the civilian said. “Thank you chaps for explaining about the garden, it is lovely, I will see the French gardener for some cuttings before I leave. I shall have breakfast now if you don’t mind.”
He closes the window and sits down at the table and orders a meagre breakfast. The duty Officer seems to relax when he hears these remarks.
Sandy and I give each other knowing looks, “something going on here.” I whisper.
He began eating a breakfast of a few slices of toast and a bowl of unadulterated porridge. While he ate he consulted a small notebook, sometimes making entries with a stubby pencil. The duty Officer attempts to draw him into conversation once or twice but is rewarded with a brief reply until he finishes eating. On completing his meal he pulls a large watch out of his waistcoat pocket flicks open the face cover and looks at the time.
He asks the duty Officer. “What time do you make it?”
