Kid Soldier

by Jennifer Maruno

  Willie was right, Richard thought. No trains travel at night; the lights are too easily spotted by the Luftwaffe. He removed his gear and settled himself in the corridor for a bite to eat, happy to hide from Germany’s air force, one of the strongest in the world.

  “Eating from a tin, while we sit in a tin,” Jack commented.

  “So what are we?” someone asked as the sun went down. “Sardines or oysters?”

  “The pearl in the oyster is gone,” Ted said. “Point is not to end up fish bait.”

  —

  The next morning Fleet Station appeared on the west side of a stone bridge. The road from the station lay quiet.

  “His peach fuzz hasn’t even come in yet,” Swipes said, remarking on Richard’s fresh morning face. Unlike the others, he didn’t have the dark shadow of an unshaven soldier.

  “You sure you ain’t a girl?” Ted asked.

  “I thought it did nothing but rain in England,” Jack said to Richard when they got off.

  “That’s what I heard too,” Richard said, taking a look at the morning sky. Not a sign of a snowflake or icy raindrop. It was as if they had September weather for Christmas.

  “So what’s with the drought?” Jack asked, pointing to the sign.

  Fleet Pond was nothing but a huge hole beside the road.

  The troop marched without speaking, their belts, buckles, and badges gleaming in the sun. Richard spotted two young boys behind a road block and gave them a wink. They saluted him.

  When they broke rank at the camp gate, everyone’s eyes widened. Leipzig barracks, their new home, had been built during the Boer War at the turn of the century.

  Ted said what most of them had on their mind. “And we thought the train was a joke.”

  “As long as we don’t have to sleep in there,” Jack commented as they walked past the many rows of horse stalls.

  Richard stepped away from the unit into the cool interior of the stalls. The smell of horses took him back to Mr. Vogel’s barn where he eased the horse from the rig. Richard loved unbuckling the belly band, taking off his harness and hanging it up. First he’d rub the place on the horse’s back and neck where they had chafed. Then he unclipped the reins, undid the bridle, and took the bit from the horse’s mouth. As Richard’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, the reality of where he was returned.

  The officers behind the barb-wired gate checked them in and pointed to the table piled with blankets, barrack bags, and other equipment. The huts that waited for them at the end of their march weren’t much better than the stables. The walls and roofs were wooden. The crude central heating system of small open grates shocked them all.

  “No hot water,” Swipes called out from the back, “and the cold faucet drips.”

  “We’ll have it fixed up in no time,” one of the officers said. “Those with a trade report directly to the quarter-

  master. Sawmill in town does all kinds of work for the army.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Ted said, once the officer was out of earshot. “We came all this way to renovate?”

  Richard, Jack, Ted, and Swipes were assigned to the same hut. No sooner had he dumped his gear than Swipes disappeared. It was well after midnight before he slid back inside.

  Battle drill began the next morning. Richard learned to march in right flank, pincer attack, and frontal attack formations. Next, they practiced getting over and around anything they would encounter on a battlefield. Richard trod through cow dung, scaled hills and climbed trees with more ease than the rest, but by the end of the day, he was just as exhausted.

  —

  Dear Mr. Black,

  I am writing this from a small hut with three other guys. We marched all the way from the railway station. One of the guy’s names is Charlie, but everyone calls him Swipes. Jack and a guy named Ted are both from St. Catharines.

  Right now our real quarters are nothing more than concrete foundations. We’ve got to build them ourselves from the base up. There’s even a rumour that they expect the Canadians to build an airfield.

  Now I know what you meant when you used to say how a blanket and a pair of dry socks felt like heaven. Last night we slept in full battledress just to stay warm. Tell Amy I’m looking forward to my new wool socks.

  Richard

  —

  Richard woke to a shake and the sound of rain leaking through their dingy hut.

  “Get up,” Swipes whispered into his ear.

  Richard rolled over, having no intention of participating in a card game at this time of night. But Swipes wouldn’t let him rest.

  “Aren’t you tired of being grubby,” he said, shaking Richard’s shoulder. “Jack,” he called out in a hoarse whisper. “Don’t you want hot water?”

  They trailed after Swipes in the dark.

  “This place is out of bounds,” Jack hissed. “It’s army headquarters.”

  “So we pull it into bounds,” Swipes replied.

  “Pull what?” Jack asked.

  Swipes pointed to the large semi-trailer truck on wheels, parked under a tree. “It’s the mobile laundry unit,” he said, “with a boiler to heat water. All we got to do is hook it up.”

  “Put her in gear,” Ted directed. “We’ll push.”

  Swipes jumped behind the wheel.

  Richard stood in the dark, unsure of what to do. Mr. Black had never told him anything about this kind of army activity.

  “Come on, kid,” Ted said, smacking him on the back. “You must want a hot bath.”

  Richard, Jack, and Ted pushed, while Swipes steered it to the field behind the huts.

  “What about the guard?’ Richard whispered.

  “He’ll want a bath too,” Ted replied. “Unhook those hoses and start the generator.”

  As soon as the machine was set up, Jack stripped off his clothes and jumped into the large metal tub.

  “Wait,” Richard cried, who understood something Jack didn’t, having watched his mother’s laundry business. But it was too late.

  “Ahhh!” Jack yelled when the freezing water hit.

  Richard clapped his hand across his forehead. “I knew the first rinse would be cold.”

  The tub drained and refilled. This time the water was hot. Richard, Swipes, and Ted stripped and climbed in. They sloshed the deliciously hot water over their bodies.

  “What about towels?” Ted asked.

  Richard looked about. “Tumble driers,” he said. “My mother always wanted one.”

  “You want us to get inside?” Swipes asked in amazement. “No thanks.”

  “Just unhook the hose,” Richard said.

  Swipes rifled through the piles of clothes and produced four sets of clean underwear and socks. He tossed them to the men drying themselves in the stream of hot air from the hoses.

  They all stopped dressing at the sound of the rap on the door.

  “You guys done yet?” the duty guard whispered.

  Jack, dressed first, took the guard’s rifle and helmet. He raced into position with the tongue of his boots flapping.

  The soap, clean underwear, and socks helped Richard get over his guilty feelings as he made his way back to the hut. By the time the sun came up, a new guard was in place, the laundry unit was back at headquarters, and the four gunners sat at the foot of their beds polishing their boots.

  The sergeant stuck his head into the hut. “Inspection,” he shouted, jolting them into smoothing down the blankets and standing tall in front of them.

  Colonel Cuddles’ real name was Campbell, but the large jowls on either side of his soft round face reminded everyone of a big baby in uniform. He stopped in front of each of the men and looked them over. When he got to Richard, he removed his hat and placed it under his arm. “I hear you do well at signalling,” the colonel commented.

  Richard’s eyes shifted from the shiny buckle on the officer’s belt to the gleaming badge on his peaked cap. “Thank you sir,” he replied.

  “Can you ride?” the colonel asked.
/>   “A horse?” was all Richard could think of saying.

  The colonel’s eyes cooled as he turned to the officer beside him. “This soldier does know that he is in the artillery?” he asked.

  Ted and Swipes snickered.

  He turned back to Richard. “A motorcycle, soldier,” he said. “Can you ride a bike?”

  “Yes sir,” Richard replied with a face as red as a beet. “I trained at Camp Niagara, sir.”

  The colonel turned and left the tent. Richard sank to his cot in complete embarrassment.

  “Something’s up,” Ted commented.

  Chapter 13

  Mail

  “Mail call,” a soldier called into the doorway of their hut. “Report to the Q.M.”

  Everyone pulled on their boots.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Richard asked Swipes, who remained lounging on his cot.

  “I’ll be along,” he said. “It’s a pain to have to wait for them to sort it.”

  “At least your name doesn’t start with a Y,” Richard replied with a smile.

  Ted Billington and Jack Gill had received a handful of letters and a couple of parcels when Swipes finally arrived at the quartermaster’s. “I just hope someone sent me a loaf of bread,” he said with impatience.

  “Bread?” Jack repeated, sorting through his mail. “Wouldn’t it be stale by now?”

  “Especially if it came with this lot,” Richard said, showing them the words “salvaged from the sea” stamped across the back of his only envelope.

  “Won’t matter,” Swipes said. “It’s what’s inside that counts.”

  “So what do you think happened to the ship?” Richard asked as he stared at the water-stained corner of his letter.

  “Probably caught a torpedo or ran into a mine,” Swipes said.

  Richard gave a silent prayer that it wasn’t the Empress and that Willie was safe.

  Back at their hut, Jack spread the soap, chocolate bars, and packages of cigarettes that came from his parcel across his bed. He wound a knitted scarf around his neck. “Hey Richard,” he said, tossing him a Sweet Marie. “Put this in your pocket. You just never know when it will come in handy.”

  Ted pulled out socks, cigarettes, and a couple of magazines that went under his pillow.

  Swipes entered the hut.

  “Get your loaf of bread?” they all asked at once.

  “Yup,” Swipes said to their puzzled faces. And to their surprise, he pulled a much battered, sickly green loaf out of a long cardboard box.

  “I thought you were kidding,” Richard said as he moved closer for a better look at the moldy green object. “I don’t think that’s safe to eat.”

  “I don’t plan to eat it,” Swipes said. He sliced off the crust with his bayonet and reached inside. “I plan to drink it,” he said, pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

  Richard and Jack looked at each other and chuckled. Their chuckles turned to belly-laughs. Richard laughed so hard he lay on the floor holding his stomach.

  When it was over, he crawled on to his cot and used the corner of his grey army blanket to wipe his eyes. Happy to see Amy’s familiar fat round letters dotted with small circles and crossed with bow ties, he opened his mail.

  Dear Richard,

  How are you? I spent most of last night rolling bandages for the Red Cross.

  I want to tell you that there are a lot of strange things happening in this town. There is a sign in the window of Mr. Collin’s Bookstore that says THERE’S A WAR GOING ON AND I’VE GONE TO SEE WHAT ITS ALL ABOUT. I thought Mr. Collins was a smart man, having all those books around him. Why didn’t he know what the war is all about? Then Mr. Lee put a sign in the window of his laundry WILL CLEAN SHIRTS AFTER CLEANING AXIS. Why would he go somewhere else to clean axle grease?

  Richard put the letter on his lap and gave another chuckle. Amy could always make him laugh, pretending not to read between the lines.

  YOUR MOTHER came to visit my father. He was waiting for her in his study and closed the door so we couldn’t hear. On the way out I asked her if she thought you would be visiting relatives while you were in England. She said why on earth would he go to Plumstead? The next day Tommy had to take an envelope to her. He said the house looked different so I went to sneak a peek for myself. There was no laundry anywhere. The dining room table was set up with all its chairs, but no flowers in the middle, like at our place.

  Richard lowered the letter. Why had his mother gone to see Mr. McLaughlin? What was in the envelope? Why was there no laundry?

  Thoughts bounced about his head.

  Maybe, with the war on, people weren’t taking holidays, he reasoned. The hotels would be almost empty. His mother must have lost her job! She probably went to see Mr. McLaughlin about money. But Grace Fuller would never take out a loan. Then the worst thought in the world entered his mind. His mother was planning to sell the house.

  Richard closed his eyes and transported himself back to the fort in the cherry tree. He could almost hear the rustle of the leaves. He put his head in his hands.

  “Bad news?” asked Jack. “Is everything okay?”

  Richard raised his head. “It looks like my mother is a little short of cash.”

  “Nothing new about that,” Swipes commented. But seeing the look on Richard’s face his tone softened. “Go have a chat with the paymaster. You can send her some of your pay.”

  Richard turned the letter over and read on.

  Mr. Black brought home this strange stuff called margarine. They are going to try and use it until butter comes back. Doesn’t that sound funny? It’s like butter just walked down the street saying it won’t come back until the war is over. It is really white lard in a plastic pillow. There is a button of orange liquid in the center. He showed us how to press down on the button to push out the colour. The four of us sat on the porch, passing it around. Each of us took a turn at pressing. Then we made a game of it by tossing it back and forth until it began to look like butter. I took some home but Mother won’t eat it. She said I made the whole house smell of greasy lard and went to bed.

  Tommy saw Mr. Vogel coming out of the bank and he said hello. Mr. Vogel told him to go away and leave him alone. Tommy said Mr. Vogel is nothing but a DP. What’s that?

  Did you like your Christmas socks? Mr. Black laughed at the red and green stripes but he said you’d be grateful for them no matter what colour they were.

  Write back soon,

  Amy

  Richard folded the letter and stuffed it back into its envelope. His Christmas socks were probably floating about the ocean. He left the hut to seek out the paymaster, and, after signing a few papers, returned. Richard pulled out his pen and paper and began a letter to his mother, knowing he had to be careful with what he wrote. She didn’t like anyone knowing her business.

  Dear Mother,

  We are very busy training here in England. The weather is either wet or cold. We only had one day of frost. I wish we had just a little snow, the kind for making snowballs.

  He paused to think about Mr. Vogel’s field when the snow lay deep in the wheel ruts and the trees bent with the weight of crystal ice.

  I have made arrangements for part of my pay to come home to you. I am making this letter short because I want to get it in tonight’s mail bag.

  Your son,

  Richard

  He stuck the bright red square with the cameo of King George on to the top right hand corner of the envelope and went back out to post it.

  Chapter 14

  Plumstead

  Half the regiment would get leave over Christmas, the sign on the notice board read, the other half at New Year. Richard sighed at the thought of Christmas away from home. Mr. and Mrs. Black always put up a Christmas tree even though they didn’t have any kids. Tommy and Amy always gave him a present. A lump formed in his throat. His mother would be alone over the holidays.

  “Looks like we’ve both got Christmas leave,” Jack said, reading his name from the list over Richard�
�s shoulder. “Why don’t you come with me? At least you’ll get to see good old London Town.”

  “Genuine business has come to a stand-still in London,” one of the other soldiers from behind said in a fake aristocratic voice, imitating Lord Haw-Haw.

  “Well, then,” Jack said, thumping Richard on the back, “we better get it going again.”

  The battery sergeant major looked them over briefly. “I am cautioning you to behave yourself in this country,” he said. “Remember the rules about rail passes.” He stamped two with the date and pushed them forward. Then he handed each of them a five pound note and a ration card.

  “So what’s this worth?” Richard asked Jack, as he pocketed the money.

  “They’ve given us a pound a day,” Jack said with a large grin. “A British soldier only draws a shilling a day. We’re rich!”

  A civilian truck took them to the rail station where they boarded the train to London. There they emerged into a thick, dense fog that smelled of grime, cement, and wet burned wood.

  “Don’t know about you,” Jack said. “I don’t want to have to find my way about in this blackout. Let’s find the serviceman’s club. It’ll only be sixpence for the night. Tomorrow we can paint the town red.”

  Richard followed Jack like a lost puppy to a club in a basement off an alley. Inside the thick stone walls a sailor played an upright piano. The buzz of conversation and the smell of bacon and beans filled the warm, noisy room. Servicemen of every kind sat at small varnished tables, topped with a single candle and a jar of change. Richard and Jack waded their way through thick tobacco smoke to a table that had a teapot, a bowl of sugar, small bottle of milk, several mugs, and a basket of digestive cookies.

  “Just throw your loose change in the jar, and then help yourself,” Jack told him. “There are no fixed prices, unless you order.”

  As Richard fished for a few coins from his trouser pocket, the air raid siren went off. He stopped and stared up at the black mildewed ceiling. The men at the next table waved him to sit down as if it was against the rules to stand. The overhead rumblings made the old foundations shiver. The sailor at the piano banged out a more rousing tune.