Angels at Mons

by Carl Leckey

  “I’ve been here nearly four years. Yes, even though I say it myself, I reckon I speak it pretty good. Do you want me to order you a good English breakfast? They do a smasher here. They should do I taught em, they are good mates of mine these lads.” I nod. He shouts an order in rapid French to the man behind the bar. While we wait for our meal he informs me. “Eh, do you know that charabanc you brought in a while back?”

  I confirm this. “I notice it is still where I parked it.”

  “Funny thing, I ordered a new engine for it and the bloody thing arrived four days ago. I had just started fitting it when I receive a notice the Portsmouth Corporation don’t want it back.

  I reckon they think it’s clapped out, but I have given it a good going over and I can tell you, it’s been well looked after and serviced regular.”

  “That will be right our MT Corporal is very strict on servicing. What do you reckon will happen to it now?”

  A germ of an idea is beginning to form in my head.

  “The Army don’t want it any more either, bloody thing is just sitting there. It’s a bloomin shame.” He replies.

  The breakfast arrives, what a feed of bacon, eggs, tomatoes, fried bread. The man is right they do cook a smasher in the café. I tuck in with relish. As we finish Alec looks at the clock on the wall. “Uh, uh, got to go or I’ll be late.” He stands up to leave.

  “How much will this cost?” I ask. “Have it on me Scouse, you can pay tomorrow ok” ’

  He throws some coins on the table, and leaves in a hurry.

  I make my way down to the movement control office, my friend the clerk that gave me the chocolates is on duty, and remembers me.

  “So you made it eh Scouse? You know you have been on my conscience since I sent you to the front line just before the armistice, what can I do for you?” I shake his hand.

  “Ah, you did me a favour mate. I was able to see my old mates, another thing I wouldn’t have missed for the world. I saw the cease-fire in, at the front.

  I reckon I carried maybe the last casualty of the war as well. I wonder if you can give me a bit of advice? You seem to run this operation and have all the answers.”

  I remember Sandy’s advice from what seemed a lifetime ago, always keep well in with the clerks. The Officers think they are in charge, but it is the NCO’s and clerks that wield the real power. He accepts my compliment with a smile.

  I explain I have another two weeks leave due to me, and I am down for Demob. I ask him. “Is it possible to extend my leave in France, and even get my Demob sorted out over here?”

  He thought for a moment before replying.

  “The leave is no trouble, you are entitled to it, and I can fix that easily. The Demob now, I’m not sure if I can help you on that one. This Officer of mine wouldn’t make a decision on anything like that, he’s only a Lieutenant. Pity you don’t have connections with a senior Officer. I have heard some Officers have married French girls and staying over here. But I’ve never heard of a private soldier doing it.”

  An idea came to me. “Tell you what, can you fix the leave? I think I know someone who might help me on the other part. Will it be possible to get in touch with one of my old bases on that thing?”

  I point at the telephone. He replies proudly.

  “As long as it’s military business, and if they are connected, I can get you through.”

  I thank him, saying as I leave. “I’ll drop in tomorrow ok?” We shake hands and I head back to Oscars, via where Pompey Lill is parked.

  It takes quite a struggle to squeeze through the number of vehicles jammed around the charabanc but I eventually manage.

  The old girl looks in good condition, I can see in the engine compartment the partially installed motor unit. After examining the vehicle in detail I hurry back to Oscars, when I realise I have been away for hours.

  He opens the door to my knocking, a look of anger on his face, as I enter I detect Denise crying. I rush into the parlour to see her curled up on the chez lounge weeping into a lace handkerchief.

  As I enter she flings herself into my arms; her sobs are heartbreaking as she clings to me. I stroke her head, not quite sure what to do next. Pacifying a crying woman is completely beyond my experience.

  From behind me Oscar speaks.

  “She thought you had run away and left her, I could not console the poor girl.” I am taken aback.

  “Why did you go out without letting me know?” He adds angrily.

  “I am sorry Oscar I did not want to disturb you. You know I wouldn’t do anything like that. I just went for a walk to think things over.”

  I whisper in the girl’s ear,

  “You are silly Denise my sweet, I will never leave you my darling I love you so much.”

  She lifts her tear stained face and I kiss her passionately on the lips. My return ends her fear of being abandoned.

  The three of us sit down together Oscar asks me have I eaten. I told I him I have also who I have met and what I have learned.

  “There is a marvellous opportunity, for someone with money to spare as an investment. The Colonel a man I really admire has the vision to see the opportunities for road vehicle transport. He has already approached me to sound out some of the other drivers. The parking area is full of surplus and broken down vehicles, stores and workshops. I’m sure the Army will only be too glad to get rid of them when the withdrawal is complete.

  If only someone could buy the lot, I believe there is a great deal of money to be made, not forgetting how much it would help this area to get back on its feet again. At least some good would come out of the madness of the war.

  I’ve got another idea. When things settle down and passage across the channel returns to normal. I reckon people will want to visit the graves of their loved ones. I have knowledge of the area I could guide them around.” Oscar intervenes. “And the charabanc would be just the vehicle to take them. What a great idea, you need to seek for a partner no further. I have this house to sell, the contents are worth a great deal and my aged Aunt also left me a considerable amount of money.”

  He takes me aback with this instant proposal. I have been thinking on the lines of contacting the Colonel.

  “What about your intention of using the cash to rebuild the farm for your fiancée’s family?” I ask.

  “You forget Scouse my old friend. I have property and funds available in my own country now that the war is over. I shall have to figure out how I can go home to claim my rights. It still could be difficult if some of the hard liners get wind of my desertion. After all, I am an escaped prisoner, and I have some back pay due to me also.”

  Denise gasps and stands up abruptly.

  “I did not know of this thing Oscar. You are a German, and yet you have an English soldier as a friend. You hide me, whose Father was killed in the war, maybe by yourself. I am also the Granddaughter of a man who hated all soldiers.”

  Oscar realises he has slipped up by disclosing these facts in such a way. With a mortified expression on his face he apologises to Denise.

  “I can assure you my dear I have killed nobody in my life. It is a long story, but I am sure Adam will testify to how I have conducted myself since we first met. The reason I ran away Or deserted if you like is my abhorrence of the war and the senseless killing. I hope these revelations do not spoil our relationship.”

  I take Denise in my arms and assure her of Oscar’s honour.

  “Even before the war Oscar was actively engaged in trying to prevent it. There is no man on earth I would trust more than this man. In fact I trust him so much I risked my life in helping him to escape. There are good and bad people on both sides you know Denise? Our friend Oscar, in my opinion is one of the good ones. The war is over, let us get on with our lives and forgive and forget. When I brought wounded casualties in, our own and the enemy, they all cried in pain, maybe in a different tongue. But the bullets and shrapnel made by the arms manufacturers and delivered by Politicians and mad men, all tore human fle
sh in very much the same way. I realise it is never the ordinary man that creates the war, they are only the pawns and victims of it.” I astound myself with my own words. Never in my whole life have I made a speech with such passion and feeling. I entered the war a stuttering, insecure, uneducated cretin. I end the war able to read, write, think and speak with eloquence. I have a beautiful girl whom I love dearly, soon to be my wife. I have the prospect of a business with a man of substance, who is a true friend and potential partner. I need to contact my friend the Colonel and inform him of my good fortune.

  On the whole I have to admit, the war has been kind to me, or is my guardian Angel responsible for my good fortune?

  As for the presence of the Angel at the battle at Mons?

  During my brief army career I have met many honest men who swore they had witnessed the Angels phenomena and the unexpected retreat of the German army. I have also met many men that swore they knew someone that had personally seen the Angel descend from heaven wielding a flaming sword to save the British. I have also spoken to many men that totally and scornfully deny any such thing took place. Be that as it may. I am convinced despite my rejection of organised religion I had a personal Guardian Angel steering me safely through the nightmare that was the Great War the war to end all wars. An author admitted the story in circulation of the Angels of Mons was based on a short fictional article he had published in a national news paper. From every quarter he was vilified for disclosing the truth. The reason people accepted the story as true? The populace wanted desperately to believe God was on the British side in the awful conflict. But those in authority saw a different reason to accept it as the truth. The opportunity to utilise it for propaganda purposes was too good an opportunity to miss. I believe there is a saying that goes.

  The first casualty of war is always the truth.

  The end but not the finish of the saga.

  About Carl

  the author

  I am the youngest of three children spending my early years in Wartime Britain. I admit to enjoying the constant ‘excitement’ of the war. The presence of Italian Prisoners in the area gave me the opportunity to meet my first foreigners until the coming of the Yanks. The collecting of shrapnel as memento’s of the duels of the RAF against the Luftwaffe that took place in the sky above were considered by me and my mates to be great entertainment. When we dodged school we spent our days clambering around the shipwrecks on the shore of the Mersey. One of my favourite places to visit was my Grandfather’s allotment, where the old wartime comrades would meet in the garden shed to share a drink, and a smoke.

  They would reminisce, and talk through the horrors of what they had experienced in the Great War. If kept quiet and unseen, I could hear all sorts of things to fire my imagination. When I left school I served on the Mersey tugs for fifteen years, with a break for two years National Service. On returning to the tugs I rose to the rank of Mate before being made redundant at the age of thirty in 1968 when the company was taken over. I then worked as a Leading Lock Keeper for British Waterways in Cheshire for twenty eight years until ill health brought premature retirement. I served as a Union Steward Convenor, and Worker representative on the Company Pension Fund management committee. In1985 I was fortunate in being awarded a Winston Churchill travelling Fellowship to study Ports and Harbour services in USA and China. On returning from my travels undertook a series of lectures on my experiences abroad to interested organisations. In 1995 I was awarded an MBE by the Queen for services to British Waterways. I have written, and had accepted, a few short articles for the works magazine, newspapers, and a boating magazine. After retiring and finding time on my hands, armed with a computer I completed a writer’s course with the Open College of Arts

  I have been married since 1962 I have two children and four Grandchildren they are now residents of New Zealand.

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © Ron Culley, 2012

  Ron Culley is hereby identified as author of this work in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  The book cover picture is copyright to Ron Culley

  ISBN : 978-1-78148-028-1 in epub format

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  Grosvenor House Publishing Ltd

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