Angels at Mons

by Carl Leckey

  “You have just enough for a quickie Darling.”

  It is a quickie, like my first encounter with Christina it is over in a flash. She tactfully steers me out of the room towards the stairs.

  As we pass along the landing I detect an unmistakably English upper class voice, pleading to be punished. This is quickly followed by the thwack of a leather belt on flesh. After this strange noise, screams of pain follow.

  I cannot resist the temptation to see inside the room, despite the whispered protestations from my escort. I carefully turn the door knob and ease the door open. My God! What an extraordinary sight confronts me. Spread-eagled on the bed, securely tied to the brass bedposts almost entirely naked is a blindfolded elderly man. Strangely, he still wears his highly polished boots adorned with a set of spurs. Evidently the victim is a member of a cavalry regiment. On the dressing table lies the uniform cap of a British Officer. Draped over a chair back I spot the rest of his uniform, including his Sam Brown complete with pistol holster. Stood on either side of the bed there stands a woman. They are bare breasted and robed in caps and gowns, similar to a teachers outfit. But they have been modified in a most alluring way. The ladies half heartedly lash the unfortunate victim every time he pleads alternatively for mercy, discipline, and punishment. I feel the need to intercede, as I have wild thoughts of the place being a German spy centre, and the captive is being tortured to reveal vital secrets.

  My erstwhile lover attempts to refrain me from interfering, and indicates we should leave. She attempts, without success, to drag me away from the incredible scene. I am about to comply with her demands when I recognise the victim. Shaking her grip off my arm I move closer to get a better look at him. Despite the blindfold covering his eyes, I clearly recognise his twisted face, bedecked with a huge walrus moustache illuminated by a gas mantle situated over the bed.

  This fool is Sebastian, the other drunken swine had called him. This is the same evil, bloodthirsty idiot that advocated the shooting of German prisoners. I remember this shit well from when I cleared plates at the mess night at the Chateau. How can I a mere private, resist the temptation to strike a blow for every underdog that has suffered as a result of his warped mind. I step smartly across the room much to the surprise of the two ladies I take the belt from one of them and administer a series of resounding thwacks across his bare arse. My arm is propelled by every grievance I have against the class system. The lady opposite appears to enjoy the spectacle and enthusiastically joins me as we administer blow for blow. The spectacle ends when, out of breath and convulsed with laughter all four of us collapse into a heap. I have great difficulty muffling my male voice I don’t want to give the game away.

  The only downside to the punishment I administer being, the idiot on the bed appears to be enjoying himself and even urges us to even greater efforts. Eventually I regain my composure, although I cannot completely stifle an occasional giggle. The escort leads me out of the room and down the stairs. I have not felt so utterly satisfied with my lot in life since I witnessed the revenge on the horrible Padre.

  Two more soldiers are about to come up with the other women.

  Another soldier waits for his turn with the lover I have just entertained.

  I wonder where all the other women have gone. I’m sure there were about seven when I last visited, and the Madame, where has she disappeared to?

  As I reach the front door and fumble for the handle, a voice whispers from the darkness.

  “Scouse, how are you?” Startled I answer. “Who the bloody Hell?” A hand grasps mine I try to pull free.

  “Don’t worry my friend please come with me, there is nothing to fear.”

  The voice sounds somewhat familiar and reassuring. He leads me through a door into a side room and turns the gas mantle up revealing himself in the flickering light. Although heavily disguised, with a very imposing beard and wearing wire spectacles, it is definitely Oscar.

  I slump into a chair, he smiles. “I am so glad to see you again my friend. When I recognised you as you entered I was overjoyed, did you get my letter?” I feebly nod.

  “Bloody Hell Oscar, you frightened the life out of me in the hall, what are you doing here? I would have thought Le Havre would be the last place in France to hide considering all the MPs about?”

  “On the contrary Scouse, the MPs are some of our best customers, the very fact that they frequent this establishment as guests protects us from investigation.”

  “Come on Oscar, explain all, I visited here a month or so ago, where you here then?”

  “I was indeed, when you dropped me off, this is where I immediately bolted to, it was a very close call with those MPs remember?

  I saw you and your mate Billy when you paid your little visits.”

  He smiles again. “I thought on that occasion discretion was the best course. I was not sure then if I would be recaptured.”

  He adds more information. “You see? The Madam who owned this place, was in fact my old landlady when I lectured at Manchester University. I have always kept in touch with her through various means. I knew if I made it to her, she would hide and protect me.”

  “You are speaking as if she is no longer here Oscar, where is she, and all the other women?”

  “Alas my friend, God is not too kind to us sinners. The influenza struck the ladies down one by one, leaving only four working girls.” “You mean they are dead?”

  This revelation brings me to my feet, as I inquire incredulously.

  “All of them?” “Unfortunately yes.” His next sentence really shocks me.

  “The first to go was the dear little Christina, one day she was perfect the next. Poof! She had been taken by her maker.”

  “Good God.” I sit down again, unable to comprehend what he has said. Could I have been responsible for her death and all the other poor souls? Did I bring the dreaded influenza into this place and infect them? “Christina.” I begin to ask hesitantly. “When did she actually contact the bloody flu, do you know?”

  “Madam told me her Sister and Mother had died from influenza as well. Christina had nowhere to go and no money to live. Madam took her in she did not have to be a working girl you know? She chose to.”

  Oscar appears to be defending his friend the Madam.

  “It’s not that Oscar, I need to know when did she contract influenza.”

  “Oh! I see.” He replies.

  “She was ill when she came here, Madam informed me. They thought she was over it, but evidently the poor dear had a relapse. Of course most of that occurred before I arrived here.”

  My heart leapt, even though I had nearly died myself from the cursed illness. I am glad it wasn’t me that passed it on to the women of the establishment. The fact was, I most probably caught it from the girl.

  The phrase, after pleasure is pain comes to mind.

  I find myself relaxing after I established I was not to blame.

  Oscar made some coffee on a spirit burner, and we sat chatting about this and that, but there is something I really want to know. During a pause in the conversation I have to ask him.

  “Oscar, you know I’ve just been upstairs with one of the ladies?”

  He gives me a strange look tuts, and wags a finger at me.

  I ignore his condemnation. “There is something weird going on in one of the rooms.”

  Before I am able to proceed any further with the questions, he holds up his hand to stop me. “It’s the Officers. The ladies that er operate in that room don’t belong to this establishment they rent a room for their own peculiar sexual administrations. They work from the flower shop next door and have their own access up a back stairway.

  It’s a service my friend the Madam established, to cater for the strange tastes of the officer class. They don’t like to be seen entering the same establishment as the Other Ranks you see?”

  His reply puzzled me, and I find I have to pursue the matter further with another question. “But how does anyone get satisfaction out of
being hurt? If there are people desperate enough to experience pain, then by all means let them join the front line troops. I guarantee it wouldn’t be long before they have their stupid bellies full of pain.”

  Oscar replies with something I didn’t quite understand.

  “Horses for courses my boy.”

  I decide to drop the matter after one last remark.

  “I thought sex was a straight forward thing, you live and learn eh?” My education is evidently still sadly lacking regarding sexual matters.

  After the coffee, Oscar opens a brandy bottle.

  This is not my usual tipple I have only experienced spirit in the form of the issued rum. “Um, this cognac tastes rather nice.” I thank him for the drink, he tops me up again. In fact every time I empty my glass he refills it. Oscar, in between sips, informs me he now runs the brothel until Madams will is settled. The four remaining working girls agreed to stay with him on the understanding he recruited more women to help out with the ever-increasing demands of the clients.

  From listening to conversations of the MP clientele Oscar believed the war is nearly at an end. “Shells, bombs, thousands of deaths, could not stop the madness that went on, with no end in sight I believe almighty God has intervened. He has sent the unseen foe to punish both sides equally, in the form of a disease known to man as influenza to curtail the insanity. God moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform. Remember me telling you that Scouse, a long time ago?”

  I did remember, in fact, not much of what he has taught me have I forgotten.

  I know Oscar is a bit of a holy Joe, but a good honest man despite his nationality.

  I explain about my vehicles break down.

  “I don’t know how long I will have to wait for repairs, there’s a line of vehicles ahead of me.”

  Oscar advises me. “Try and take as long as possible to get repaired, do not go near the front line if you can help it. I have a feeling it will be all over any day now. Be careful Scouse, pity the last man to be killed at the end of the madness, make certain it is not you. Too many young lives have been sacrificed to the great evil already.”

  I stood up to leave, Oscar shakes my hand and says,

  “You are welcome here any time my friend, sorry but I can’t get you free love from the ladies. They have their expenses to meet, and families to feed by the only way they know how. But I would like you to come and visit anytime, for a chat, a coffee, a drink, or a bit of comfort.”

  I leave and head back to where Pompey Lill is parked, my mind befuddled with the drink in the dark the only light comes from a roadside gas lamp a distance away.

  An English drunk sings a morbid song about his home in Ireland. I join him in a few lines of the song. Somewhere out of the darkness I detect clapping, at least someone out there appreciates my efforts.

  The line of trucks does not appear right as I stagger my way along the row. Where I thought I had parked Pompey Lill there is now a general service truck parked at the very end of the line.

  I giggle as I imagine confessing to Toot I have lost his beloved Pompey Lill. I begin working my way along towards the repair facilities. Not until I reach the very front of the queue do I find Pompey Lill.

  My vehicle has been moved from fifteenth in line to the front by some miracle. Nobody is about to question, and there is no sign of life in any of the other vehicles. I climb aboard with difficulty, to find everything is as it should be. None of my possessions or the emergency stores have been interfered with. Puzzled and pissed, I lie down on my makeshift bed and drop into a drunken sleep.

  A loud banging on the side of Pompey Lill wakes me in the morning. “Come on you lazy bugger, get on parade.” I stagger to the door and look out into the light of a breaking dawn, my head feels as if it is about to split open. A mechanic in greasy overalls stands with one foot on the bottom step, a clipboard in his hand. I can’t see any badge of rank, or stripe, so I respond in a similar fashion to an old soldier.

  “What the bloody Hell do you want? You’re a silly sod for waking a poor bloody soldier up from a nice dream in the middle of the night?”

  He laughs. “Come on lad open the old girl up let’s have a look at her innards. I believe it’s suffering a buggered motor isn’t it?”

  “Er, wait a minute, what about the other vehicles ahead of me? I was at the back of the line last night.”

  “Ha-ha! They have pulled that one on you eh, we live and learn?” This lost coming to an end, I can feel it in my bones. The other lads are reluctant to risk their miserable skins so close to the end.”

  Chapter thirty-six

  It’s over

  I shake my aching head, and gradually pull myself together. Realising what the other drivers are up to, the crafty sods have wind of a cease-fire, and do not want to risk their lives in the last days of the war.

  Oscar’s advice rang like a warning bell in my aching head keep clear of the front line. Do not be recorded as the last man to die in what will be considered the worst calamity mankind has ever known.

  The mechanic has already opened up the engine cover when I join him. His head and shoulders are buried inside the motor space. I inquire.

  “What do you think then?” He emerges and replies.

  “There is good news and bad news my boy, what do you want first?”

  I answer. “Stop arsing about will you mate? What is your verdict on my vehicle, can you fix it or what?” My hangover really bothers me. I feel like vomiting when he hawks and spat before answering.

  “As you know she is knackered, we don’t have spares for a vehicle of this type they will have to be ordered from the makers in England. That is the bad news. The good news is you might be stuck here for weeks waiting. I’ll get the tow truck we shall have to move you from this area.”

  With that parting remark he left me with my aching head.

  They moved Pompey Lill to a remote place off the parking area. Poor old girl looks a sad sight lined up with the wrecks and other accumulated bits and pieces of vehicles.

  As I make my way towards the movement control office I meet the large moustached driver, he stuck his hand out. “No hard feelings lad.”

  I smile, shake his hand and reply. “No, you done me a big favour in fact my vehicle is completely knackered. Looks like I’ll see the war out waiting for spares.

  The mechanic told me they are on to your tricks of moving vehicles and they are taking the next one from the back of the line. Good one eh?”

  I left him scowling as I whistle my way on to the office. Even my hangover appears to be easing as I arrive at the office. The friendly clerk instead of being upset by my news appears overjoyed.

  “Hang on mate.” He requests, and disappears through a door marked movement control Officer. He returns after only a minute with a paper in his hand.

  “Right mate you came from the field hospital unit right, here’s your chance to go home. Off you go get your gear and make your way to number three shed. That’s over there.” He points towards the quay area.

  “There is general duty truck waiting for you to take it’s already loaded with stores and fuel.”

  “Eh! That’s not my real unit you know? They seconded me and my vehicle to clear the backlog of casualties. I’m a qualified ambulance driver not a bloody trucky.”

  I try desperately to get out of this assignment. I know I am grasping at straws when he continues to press the papers on me despite my protests. Finally I submit, knowing I have lost the battle by the look on his face, it is obvious this man has heard it all before. I ask feebly, as a last desperate shot, “Whose vehicle is it anyway? I suppose some bloody head worker has dodged out eh?”

  The truth is I have already planned in my mind another visit to the house of love. One of the other ladies an oriental type has caught my eye on my last visit. I am excited at the thought of some variety in the art of love.

  The clerk informs me. “The driver has been whipped away with the flu, you are to take the truck to.” he cons
ults his paper. “Ha! You will like this, you are to take it to a front line dressing station at.”

  He names the number and location of my base. My heart lifts I will get to see my mates after all.

  The clerk leans forward and whispers.

  “Sorry about this mate, you know they reckon a cease fire is on the cards?” I nod. He advises with genuine concern. “Well you make sure you keep your head down mate. I wouldn’t send you, but they are desperate for this load. It was him in there that ordered it.” He gestures towards the inner office before continuing.

  “The drivers are going down like pins in a bowling alley with this bloody flu. Here’s your paperwork, get a meal and some haversack rations at the canteen before you set off. I’ve already told you the truck is all fuelled up haven’t I? So please will you get on your way as soon as you can.”

  Trying to squeeze a little concession out of the clerk I declare in an injured manner. “It’s going to take me two days you know. Am I to have a second man to relieve me?”

  “No. There is just nobody to spare, you will have to manage by yourself, I know it’s a long run on your own.” He sympathetically confides.

  “That’s alright, I understand, I’m not blaming you pal. Seeing as I’m on my own, is it ok if I overnight at the Chateau hospital?” He agrees.

  I push my luck with another request. “And may I choose my own route I know a short cut you see?”

  “Yes you can. Yes you can. On both occasions.”

  Yippee another chance to get news of Denise. You win a few you lose a few in this Army. I am quite proud of myself, acting like a real old soldier. A few months ago I wouldn’t have dared question authority or orders. As this war progresses and I get more time in I am becoming more worldly wise, and beginning to understand the unwritten rules of the Army.

  He fills in another form and hands it to me. “Now, will you get going?”

  I am about to leave when he calls me back. “Hang on a mo mate.”