Angels at Mons

by Carl Leckey

  Toot reveals his plan to give the front line drivers a rest from the never ending misery and risk, of running to and from the combat area.

  He intends to set up a roster for driving Pompey Lill to ferry the treated casualties that are able to travel without stretchers to the Chateau hospital.

  My heart lifts as I see an opportunity to see my beloved Denise again. “How are Billy and Dave doing with their driving?” He inquires.

  I have to admit Billy is almost ready, but Dave is a disaster.

  “In my opinion he will never make a driver.”

  Toot divulges his thoughts on the matter. ‘Jake’s the same as Dave, he’s a brilliant second man and a willing worker but as for his driving?”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve decided to train them up as fitters.”

  He pauses for a moment before continuing. “They are doing quite well with the reading and writing, at least they will be able to get a decent job after this nonsense is over. Do you think they will be upset at not getting to drive?”

  I reply. “Well I know Dave won’t, all he’s worried about is being sent back to the station if he fails as a driver.”

  Dave had confided to me about the possibility of being returned to his unit. I know he dreads the thought. The Corporal’s plans for him would suite Dave down to the ground.

  Sam returns after delivering another load of dead for burial.

  “You need to get a move on Scouse, no casualties again but there lots of bleedin stiffs though. They are really stacking them up there and they are thawing out bleedin fast, know what I mean?”

  I leave immediately. This goes on for nearly a week by that time the smell from the rotting corpses is horrendous. We only stop carrying dead in the ambulances when the unauthorised truce has ceased, then it’s back to the pain and suffering runs.

  Sam remarks. “At least the stiffs never bleedin moaned, and did not bleedin bleed all over the ambulances.”

  Sam is not a callous man, and more caring with the wounded than many of the other drivers. I believe he developed this hard front to get him through the horror of it all as do most of us.

  Spring slips into early summer, migrating birds return from places a long way from the madness, why do they want to raise their chicks in such a Hell hole? I wonder. The poor birds carry on their lives and rituals through all the chaos man inflicts on their nesting sites.

  The battle continues, churning up the ground and devastating the countryside, yet on one run I notice the poppies.

  The barren, pock marked soil is alive with blood red flowers.

  “It’s the blood of the soldiers you see? That’s what makes em grow so well.” Sam explains when I point them out. He had seen the same fantastic wonder of nature on three other summers while on the front line.

  A day that remains in my memory arrives, when Toot informs me he has chosen me to transport a full load of treated casualties to the Chateau hospital. He even intends trusting me with his beloved Pompey Lill.

  Billy is to accompany me and share the driving.

  “It’s not very far, but it will give him a chance to familiarise himself with the vehicle.”

  Toot has tested other drivers but does not trust anyone but Sam, Billy and I with his precious charabanc, this is quite a boost for Billy and I.

  Billy is actually better driving Pompey Lill than the ambulances.

  Toot declares him to be a natural bus driver, Billy is very proud of his compliment.

  He now dreams of the day when he returns to Civvy Street,

  “I can’t wait to see my mate’s faces when I drive passed and give em the V sign.” Billy confesses to me one day when we are discussing our future after the war ends.

  This is the lad when I first met him, he intended making the Army his career. Like me, his reading and writing ability improves every day thanks to Toot’s efforts. The silly bugger likes nothing better than to send me a note and then watch me reading it out loud.

  On the day we set off for the Chateau hospital with a full load of patients, we are so proud and excited. The wounded lads catch our mood, and for all intents, they treat their transportation to the rear as a charabanc trip in peacetime, singing, joking, and waving at other troops as we pass by.

  I choose the back road the Sergeant and I travelled previously on in the winter. What a difference today, the sun shines, birds sing and the fields, untouched by the war are full of crops.

  I’d only covered about a mile, when Billy begins pestering me for a drive.

  I am really enjoying the sensation of rolling along without having to worry about potholes, wrecked vehicles, or the constant threat of aeroplanes.

  Reluctantly, I hand Pompey Lill over to him. I have to admit Billy is a really good bus driver and he drives the old charabanc like a veteran.

  We speed along, urged on by the passengers to go faster and faster, I grip the side of my seat very nervous, but trying not to criticise him.

  As we take a sharp bend, disaster nearly curtails our trip. A flock of sheep blocks the road, before Billy is able to bring the vehicle to a halt he hits a couple, the cheering and shouting from the rear ceases abruptly.

  The irate French farmer approaches waving his stick, screaming a stream of abuse at us as I climb down. Two of the sheep are definitely dead putting me in a dilemma. I don’t have a clue what to do next.

  Meanwhile, Billy remains in his seat trembling with shock.

  Thank goodness I am rescued by one of our passengers he speaks in excellent French to the farmer.

  Whatever he says appears to pacify the man, the next thing that happens is the passengers make a collection among themselves, and he hands the money over to the farmer. The old chap seems well satisfied with the arrangements as he loads the two dead sheep onto the bus.

  With the assistance of his dogs he drives the sheep off the road into a field. I shout my thanks to the lads, particularly the French speaker as I move around the front of the vehicle to exchange places with Billy.

  In my mirror I notice the patient that intervened with the farmer has his head and face muffled in bandages. I assume the poor chap has been burnt by mustard gas.

  After I prize Billy out of the driving seat we are on our way again. I hope he has learned his lesson about speeding, albeit the hard way.

  Cautiously, I drive the rest of the journey to the hospital, while my co driver sits alongside without saying a word. Even the passengers have been affected by the near disaster, and spend the rest of the trip in silence.

  We arrive and pass through the gates without any delay.

  The troops are playing football, cricket, and generally enjoying themselves about the place. While other lad’s just lie about on the grass smoking, yarning and soaking up the sunshine.

  The place is alive and vibrant, what a change from the miserable, discipline ridden Hell I first visited under the previous management.

  The closer I get to the Chateau, the more my heart thumps with anticipation. I have mentioned to Denise in my last letter that I might be paying a visit shortly, but didn’t exactly know when.

  We arrive with the lads in the rear singing ‘there’s no place like home.’

  The smiling Staff greets us at the front door, no doubt alerted by the singing. The soldier with the burnt face climbs down first he stretches his arms and remarks.

  “What a beautiful place this is? I think I’ll have a stroll around the gardens before I’m confined to the hospital I love flowers. Thanks for the exciting trip Scouse.” He is attired in the usual dressing gown and pyjamas with a red armband issued to all patients I notice he has nothing about him to define his rank.

  I reply. “Good idea, don’t catch cold now.”

  At that moment my mind is definitely on other things, but his voice does sound a little familiar I wonder how he knows my name? I dismiss any further thoughts about the patient and concentrate on the treat to come when I meet Denise.

  While the hospital attendant’s assist the mo
re crippled patients out of the charabanc, I rush through to the kitchen to have a word with the cook Sergeant. He meets my inquiries about Denise with a glum response.

  “You better sit down lad I have some bad news for you.”

  My heart does a flip, is she dead or injured in some way? Has she found somebody else? Denise gave no hint in her letters that another suitor has arrived on the scene. She must be ill, or worse dead. Gloom and despondency overwhelms me.

  “Remember the last letter you sent with the new driver?” He enquires. “Yes.” I reply apprehensively. The cook continues.

  “Well, I was on leave when he arrived, to cut a long story short, the idiot only gave the letter to the girl’s Grandfather. He made her translate it, and show him all the other letters she has received from you. Two days later poor Denise is taken away.”

  “Where have they taken her to?” I ask with sinking heart. His reply deepens my black despair even more.

  “I believe she was taken to a convent. I don’t know where, or what will happen to her, but I’m afraid we have lost the dear child. I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried, to find out what the future holds for the poor girl. Her remaining Sisters are forbidden to have any contact with us whatsoever.” The cook Sergeant is as upset as I am at the disaster that has befallen the girl he considers almost his own daughter.

  “What about asking the other Frenchies if they know anything?”

  I suggest despairingly. “Can’t speak the bloody language can I?”

  Any further conversation regarding the fate of Denis is curtailed by the arrival of the Staff Sergeant. He greets me warmly. “Your mate told me you were here. I love the omnibus Scouse, is it new addition to the fleet?” I jump up and respond happily to my old NCO.

  “We found her bogged down in a field, when we dug her out she’s as good as new. Our Corporal is very proud of her he even calls it bya womans name. Pompey Lill he’s christened her.”

  Smiling he asks, “Are you going back to your station right away?”

  “‘That’s right Staff. I have to take on fuel then we head back.”

  He thought for a moment before coming up with an unexpected proposal. “Do you fancy doing a run for me taking some patients to the docks at Le Havre? They are going home on sick leave. The trouble is we have no transport available for nearly a week, you and your charabanc have arrived just in time in answer to our prayers.”

  He adds as an afterthought. “Of course, this all depends on if I can arrange it with your CO understand?”

  Despite my concern regarding my sweetheart’s fate, I jump at the chance to go somewhere different, and have some extra time at the Chateau. To be honest I am looking forward to getting away from the front line for a while. I immediately agree to his proposal.

  “While you and your mate get a meal, I’ll try and contact your station. If they agree, you can stay over for the night and leave first thing in the morning. It should take you about three or four hours to get there. I have some replacement staff due in from England they will be coming off the 1200 o’clock channel ferry tomorrow. You can bring them back on your return trip. By the way, there is a treat on tonight. We have some entertainment laid on for the lads.” He consults a letter.

  “It is Lena Ashwell and the Troubadours. I have heard they are quite good and should lift the lad’s spirits. You may as well enjoy it with them. I reckon you don’t get much entertainment at the station eh?”

  I thank the Staff and make my way to the kitchen. I am certainly looking forward to the evening distractions from the war. The cook Sergeant as usual gives us a splendid meal. While we eat in a corner of the vast kitchen I overhear his futile attempts to communicate with the French. He certainly does miss Denise translating his instructions to the French Staff. I suddenly remember the patient that spoke fluently to the French farmer. Excitedly I inform the Sergeant. “I think your troubles are over Sarg. I brought in a French speaking patient I’ll see if I can find him. By the way have you any use for a couple of sheep we accidentally killed on the way here.” He looks slightly dubious.

  “It’s all legitimate Sarg. The lads paid the farmer for them I promise.” Originally, I had earmarked them as a present for Denise and her family, but there is no way I am going to treat her lousy Grandfather after what he has done to Denise. The Sergeant is delighted with the offer, and promised me he will share the unexpected food with the French Staff.

  After I finish the meal, Billy returns to the charabanc to fetch the sheep carcasses while I search out the Staff Sergeant to either confirm or cancel the arrangements.

  The thought of the trip to Le Havre entertains my mind completely although I am nervous about driving on new territory. Billy was over the moon at the prospect when I inform him where we might be going.

  His earlier encounter with the sheep is completely forgotten.

  “Hey Scouse,” He speaks quietly, in a confidential manner.

  “One of the drivers told me there are lots of brothels by the docks. Do you think we will get a chance for a quick visit?”

  The idea of paying for a strange woman’s services has never occurred to me. The other drivers and fitters often slip into the nearest town for a visit to the local brothel whenever they can afford it. Whenever they have paid a visit I hear them boasting about their adventures with the women.

  When I refuse to accompany them, they regale me with the delights in store if only I had the courage to sample the local whores.

  Although I pretend indifference, I secretly wish I had the nerve to investigate and partake in the mysteries of the female body.

  Since joining the transport section Billy and Dave regularly visited the obliging ladies in the local brothel when their finances permit.

  “Live today, for tomorrow you may die a virgin.” They advise me. Despite their urging me to have a go, I feel it will be cheating on Denise.

  I can’t help dreaming of an intimate contact with a woman it continually stirs my manhood.

  I have no experience of women, but the unfulfilled desire that swamped me when I kissed Denise needs resolving. Words from a poem the Corporal often quotes come to mind.

  “How fickle is a young man’s love.” Did these words apply to me I wonder?

  I locate the Staff Sergeant in his office talking on a field telephone.

  He gives me the thumbs up sign and waves me to a seat, and continues talking. Breaking off communications he tells me

  “Bit of a flap on at your station, one of the Germans has escaped. The bugger was on parole, and has been there quite a while. For some reason he has bolted. I pity the silly sod if they catch him, escaping after giving his parole.” “Did they say who it is Staff?” I inquire, a hollow feeling developing in the pit of my stomach as I have an idea who it might be, if I am right. I might have innocently assisted Oscar to evade capture. “No.” The Staff replies. “They have only reported a prisoner has escaped.”

  The Staff Sergeant has forgotten about Oscar or he pretends he has for some reason. I have to find Oscar quickly, and try to persuade him to give himself up to the Staff Sergeant or the Colonel. He gives me my orders for tomorrow. I leave at 0800hrs to take a complement of patients to the cross channel ferry terminal and return with nine replacement staff. On the return I will be staying overnight again to load stores for the casualty station, and then return to my base. It sounds good to me, two nights at least away from the shit and horror of the front line casualty station.

  Although I search the place to the best of my abilities I can’t find the muffled man anywhere. To be honest I don’t inquire too much in case it is Oscar. I avoid the kitchen in case the cook Sergeant questions me about his potential interpreter. On joining the patients for meals in the great hall I notice strangers erecting a temporary stage at the end of the hall. Excitement ripples through the assembled patients and staff as they speculate on what kind of entertainment they are in for. It turns out to be a great night. I thoroughly enjoy the first entertainment I have exper
ienced since leaving my hometown. The audience enthusiastically joins in with gusto, despite their injuries the patients sing, clap, and cheer every song, sketch, and monologue presented by the entertainers.

  The Staff Sergeant has proved correct the casualties spirits are certainly lifted by the end of the evening. At the finale’ of the performance, as the cast take their bows, the lady leading the troubadours throws handfuls of cigarettes to the cheering men.

  Reluctantly, the appreciative audience eventually allows them to leave the stage, after many encores. It amazes me, that such a small contribution by caring civilian entertainers has done so much to improve the lives of the unfortunate soldiers and the staff members.

  Every detail of their performance is discussed long after they leave the hall.

  In high spirits my mate and I retire to bed.

  Chapter thirty

  My trip to the port

  Billy and I are already up at six when the rouser appears. I take Pompey Lill down for refuelling and check the oil and water ready for the forthcoming trip. Billy stays at the Chateau, helping to prepare the passengers for the journey. I bring the charabanc to the main door of the Chateau and prepare to load the patients.

  With about an hour to spare before setting off I borrow a brush from one of the cleaners and climb into the passenger section to give Pompey Lill a tickle up before the patients are loaded.

  Crouching behind the back seats, I find him. The man attempting to conceal himself from me is definitely Oscar. When I challenge him he gives up any pretence of being someone else.

  “What the bloody Hell did you run for?” I demand with panic in my voice as I realise I may be accused of aiding his escape.

  “Where the bloody Hell do you think you can go? How did you get out of the German compound? There is an alarm on about your escape, do you know that?”

  Calmly he replies. “The way I escaped from the compound is quite simple really. I studied your replacement, the soldier who removes the bits and pieces and corpses in his cart. After one of my poor comrades died I slipped under his body on the already loaded cart last thing at night. I have observed the soldier always took the bodies out of the compound at the end of duties, but did not bury them until next day. His actions made me doubly sure I had a chance of getting away with it because on this occasion, the dying soldier had requested a priest shortly before he died. Another fact I knew, the only priest available came over from the town after he had conducted the morning services.