by Hilary Green
Soon the order came along the line. ‘Fall back! Fall back!’
Tom passed the word along the line of his men. ‘Fall back in twos, head for the gap we came through. We’ll cover you.’
He was the last to make the dash for the gap and once through it found three of his men were missing. To go back to look for them was certain suicide and, to add to his bitter chagrin, in spite of all their efforts, they were back where they had started that morning.
Having checked to see that none of his remaining men was seriously wounded, Tom made his way along the trench, looking for Ralph. Eventually he found Fletcher, one of the men who had gone with him to attack the machine-gun nest, lying on a stretcher with two medics bending over him. He was barely conscious, blood oozing from three bullet wounds in his chest.
Tom leaned close to him. ‘Fletcher, where’s Major Malham Brown?’
Fletcher mumbled vaguely and Tom repeated his question with greater urgency. ‘You were with him. What happened? Did he come back with you?’
The wounded man opened his eyes and Tom sensed that he had recognized him. ‘Major’s gone, sir. Bastards got him at short range. We fixed them, though. Robbo got them with a Mills bomb.’
A rising tide of panic and despair threatened to overwhelm Tom. ‘Where is he?’ he repeated. ‘You didn’t leave him out there, did you?’
But Fletcher had lapsed back into unconsciousness. One of the medics said, ‘The major hasn’t been brought in, sir. We’d know if he had.’
‘What about the other man who was with him? Robinson?’
‘Couldn’t say, sir. I haven’t come across him.’
After a further anguished search Tom found Robinson huddled under a blanket, while another medic dressed a cut on his head.
‘Fletcher says the major was shot. Is that true?’
‘Yes, sir. We were creeping up close to the machine gun. Then the major stood up to lob a grenade, but the buggers spotted him and gunned him down.’
‘Was he killed?’
‘No, but it was a bad wound. Fletch and I wanted to bring him back for treatment but he says, “No. You must go on and fix that gun. Don’t worry about me”. So we did as he said, but then Fletch got his packet. I chucked a grenade into the machine-gun nest. I think I got the lot of them but I threw in a second one to be on the safe side. Then something hit me on the head and knocked me out. I reckon it was a bit of shrapnel from the explosion. Next thing I knew I was on a stretcher being carried back here.’
‘So he’s still out there – Major Malham Brown?’
‘Far as I know, sir.’
Almost unaware of his surroundings, Tom stumbled back along the trench to where his own men were. His first impulse was to organize a rescue-party to go out at once in search of Ralph, but when he stood on the firing step to reconnoitre the ground a sniper’s bullet whistled past his ear. The enemy had not pressed home their counter-attack but it was clear that they were in control of the ground beyond the barbed wire and any rescue attempt in daylight was doomed to failure. He stooped to enter the dugout where his men were sheltering. ‘Major Malham Brown is out there somewhere, badly wounded. I want three volunteers to come with me as soon as it’s dark enough to bring him in.’
A dozen hands went up. Ralph was a popular officer and Tom knew that he, too, was well regarded. He chose the three strongest, recognizing that to bring a wounded man back over that terrain without exposing themselves to the enemy would not be an easy task. For the next hour he stood in the trench, peering through a periscope at the ground in front of him, hoping for some sign of movement and waiting for darkness. A rat ran over his feet but he barely noticed it.
At some point his orderly appeared at his side with a steaming mess tin. ‘Brought you a brew, sir. Look as though you could do with it.’
Tom thanked him and swallowed the sweet, scalding liquid almost without tasting it. Then he resumed his vigil. Towards dusk, the rain clouds that had threatened all day cleared, and an almost full moon rose in the sky. The sight reduced Tom to impotent fury and he swore at it in terms he would have despised in calmer moments.
When it was fully dark he called the three volunteers to him. ‘You remember where the machine gun was, near the stream? The major is somewhere close to that. We’ll leave here in single file. I’ll go first, then you, Jamieson, then Williams, then Drew. Once we’re through the wire we’ll spread out, but stay where we can see each other. In this moonlight it shouldn’t be a problem but keep your heads down. Jerry will be able to see just as well as we can. Here’s a torch each. If you find the major, signal by two short flashes, then move away from that position in case an enemy sniper has spotted you. Once we have all joined up again, whoever has found him can show us where he is. Understood?’
They nodded and he went on: ‘Jamieson, you’re the biggest. There’s a folding stretcher here. Can you manage to drag that with you?’
‘Nae problem, sir,’ the Scotsman assured him.
Tom took a final scan through the periscope, then hauled himself over the parapet and began to squirm towards the barbed wire, not on hands and knees but flat on his stomach like a snake, dragging himself forward with his elbows. A glance behind showed him that the other three were all out of the trench and following. The distance to the gap in the wire seemed endless and he was tempted more than once to speed his progress by getting up, but he knew that would be making a target of himself. Once through the gap, he waited for the others to catch him up and waved them to spread out on either side. At that moment, to his relief, the moon went behind a cloud. It was a mixed blessing. Although it made it less likely that they would be spotted, it also meant that it was harder to see the ground ahead and the hundreds of shell-craters made the search almost impossible. Twice Tom almost pitched head first into one, and each one had to be investigated. Several contained bodies, lying half submerged in mud and water, almost unrecognizable. Some Tom ignored because their bloated condition told him they had been dead for days, if not weeks. Others he had to drag over until he could see the face or recognize the badges of rank. Once he pulled at an arm only to have it come away in his hand, almost choking him with the stench of decomposition. He crawled on and on, oblivious of time, resting every now and then when his aching arms would drag him no further.
At last he heard a faint call from his left and turned to see the rapid glimmer of a torch. Instantly there was the crack of a rifle. Skittering crablike across the mud he reached Drew, to find him lying with a neat bullet-hole in the centre of his forehead.
‘Bugger you!’ he muttered under his breath. ‘You and your sniper’s rifle. You’re too damn good.’
He lifted his head and gazed around him. Ralph was here somewhere. Drew had found him and paid the price.
‘Ralph,’ he called softly. ‘Ralph! It’s me. Where are you?’
For a second there was no response, then faintly from nearby he heard a voice. ‘Tom? Get back, you bloody fool.’
It came from the bottom of a crater a few feet away and at the sound all Tom’s caution vanished. He hurled himself forward until he crouched on the edge. Below him he could see Ralph, lying half-in, half-out of a filthy pool.
‘Hold on, old man!’ Tom gasped. ‘We’re going to get you out of there.’
He turned to look for the other two men, who should be closing up on him, but there was no sign of them. He grabbed his torch and flashed it twice, then turned to scramble down to where Ralph lay. As he did so, something hit him in the back like a kick from a mule and he tumbled head over heels into the water.
For a moment he lay there, dazed. Ralph’s voice, no more than a croak, roused him.
‘Tom? What’s wrong? Are you hit?’
Tom tried to sit up and discovered that his legs would not respond. He was not in pain; indeed there seemed to be no sensation at all in the lower half of his body. He hauled himself into a semi-upright position. ‘Nothing to worry about. I’ll be all right in a minute. Just winded, I think.’
‘You fool!’ Ralph whispered. ‘What did you want to come looking for? I’m finished. Why couldn’t you leave me?’
‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ Tom said. ‘As if I would. And you’re not finished. We’re going to get you out.’
‘We?’
‘There are two more of my chaps out there somewhere. They’ll be with us any moment.’
As if in mockery of his words, the moon came out from behind the cloud and the sniper’s rifle cracked again. There was no cry of pain and whether anyone had been hit or not Tom had no way of telling.
He dragged his useless legs closer to Ralph. ‘Where are you hit?’
‘In the guts. There’s no point in doing anything. I’m bleeding out.’
Tom dragged a packet of field dressings out of his knapsack. ‘You’re not giving up as long as I’m with you.’
Ralph’s tunic and trousers were ripped across his stomach and when Tom peeled back the ragged edges he revealed a long gash, through which parts of Ralph’s intestines were protruding. He unpacked the largest of the dressings and pressed it over the wound. Then, with a struggle, he managed to pass a bandage under Ralph’s body and secure it tightly over the dressing; but very quickly both dressing and bandage were dark with blood.
‘I told you. It’s no good,’ Ralph murmured faintly.
‘Hold on!’ Tom responded. ‘Jamieson will be here in a minute with a stretcher.’
Tom was beginning to feel an icy chill seeping up from somewhere in the lower part of his body. He knew now that he had not just been ‘winded’. Something was seriously wrong. It was impossible to move Ralph on his own. All he could do was wait.
After a long silence Ralph whispered, ‘Put your arms round me, old friend. I’m chilled to the marrow.’
With difficulty Tom manoeuvred himself nearer and got one arm under Ralph’s neck and pulled him close. He felt Ralph burrow his head into his shoulder and laid his cheek against the once-bright hair, now clogged with mud.
‘That’s better,’ Ralph breathed. Then, after another silence, he lifted his head towards Tom’s face. ‘It was always you, you know. You were the one I really wanted. But I never dared tell you.’
A lunar landscape of missed opportunities spread itself before Tom’s imagination. ‘But it was the same for me. I wanted you, too, but I was afraid to say so.’
Ralph did not respond for a moment. Then he muttered, ‘What a pair of bloody fools!’
‘Yes,’ Tom agreed, on a sigh. ‘Indeed.’
‘Too late now,’ Ralph said.
‘Yes, too late now.’
There was another silence. Then Ralph said, ‘It doesn’t matter. I wanted you to know. I love you, Tom. I’ve always loved you. That’s all that matters now.’
Tom drew a long breath. ‘And I’ve always loved you. You’re right, that’s all that really matters.’
This time the silence went on. The moon went behind a cloud again, allowing the stars to shine more brightly. Above the rim of the crater Orion bestrode the heavens and it crossed Tom’s mind that he had always intended to find out more about the constellations. Too late for that as well, he reflected. It was clear that Jamieson was not going to appear with the stretcher. Another poor bastard gone down, Tom thought. He wondered if there was such a thing as the afterlife and decided that, if there was, there was a good chance that he and Ralph would enter it together. In death they were not divided. Where did that come from? It would make a good epitaph. He wondered if there was any chance that they might be buried in a common grave and hoped that someone would write that on the tombstone. Leo might, if she ever found the place. Leo understood . . .
The moon came out again, lower in the sky now. Somewhere a bird whistled tentatively, as if testing the air for signs of dawn. At some point Tom realized that Ralph was no longer breathing. He closed his eyes and waited for his own moment to arrive.
Fifteen
Leo was busier than she would ever have believed possible. Her fund-raising activities had caught the public imagination and after the initial lecture she found herself being asked to speak at venues up and down the country. With Victoria at her side she travelled to Manchester and Leeds, to Bath and Tunbridge Wells and Oxford. Mabel Stobart lent her influence to promote the campaign and the money rolled in. Soon the hallway at Sussex Gardens was stacked with crates of jam and sugar and packing cases full of hand-knitted socks and balaclava helmets. One morning towards the end of October, in a pause in her travels, Leo looked them over and turned to Victoria.
‘Vita, this is crazy. It will be winter soon and that is when all this stuff is going to be needed. There’s no point in us turning up with it next spring. We need to get it out there as soon as possible.’
‘I take your point,’ Victoria said. ‘The next question is, how do we get it there? There’s no way we can lug this lot on and off trains, and anyway, now there’s no Orient Express there isn’t any direct rail route.’
‘No, it’ll have to go by sea,’ Leo agreed, ‘so the sooner we get it shipped the better.’
Over the next days they haunted the offices of various shipping agents but without success. Merchant shipping was in short supply, owing to the depredations of the German U-boat fleet, and most of it had been diverted to the vital North Atlantic route. No one was going to Salonika. Finally, a sympathetic Italian ship owner agreed to convey the stores as far as Naples and promised that once there his agent would see them trans-shipped on to a vessel going to Athens. Beyond that he could not guarantee anything.
‘There’s nothing for it,’ Leo said. ‘We shall have to go to Athens and wait for it. I’m sure we can find someone there who will take it on the last leg.’
‘So how do we get there?’ Victoria asked. ‘I presume you don’t intend to travel on the ship with it.’
‘No, that would just be a waste of time. We need to leave just soon enough to be sure we can be there when it arrives.’
‘Well, one thing is for sure,’ Victoria said, ‘we are not driving this time!’
Leo laughed. ‘No, I wasn’t going to suggest that. We shall have to go by train. I wonder what the best route is.’
‘Tell you what: Stobart brought her people back from Albania, didn’t she? Let’s ask her how they did it.’
Mabel Stobart was able to supply the answer immediately. ‘You need to get to Paris. From there you can get a through train to Rome. Then another train down to Brindisi. Of course, you won’t be doing the short hop across the Adriatic to Albania, but I’m sure there will be ships going from there to Athens.’
So it was agreed and they began to plan their journey. Leo felt a thrill of excitement that she had not known for many months. Common sense told her that in the current situation she could do no more towards finding her daughter from Salonika than she could from London, but she could not banish the feeling that once there she would be in a position to take advantage of any move forward on that front – perhaps even persuade the generals to make a fresh attempt to liberate Lavci.
Then, one morning, the telegraph boy rang the bell.
Victoria found Leo sitting on a crate in the hall with the telegram still in her hand. ‘Leo! What is it?’ She crossed to sit beside her and took the telegram from her. ‘“Regret to inform you your brother Major R.J. Malham Brown is missing in action, believed killed.” Oh, Leo! I am so sorry, my dear.’
Leo sighed deeply. ‘How many times have we had to say that? Is there no end to the killing?’
‘It must come, sooner or later.’
‘Not soon enough for Ralph.’ She ran her hand over her eyes. ‘I can’t believe he’s dead, Vita. Not Ralph! He was so vital, so indestructible. I can still see him before he went off to the front, shining and eager and . . .’ She broke off, struggling for control. ‘Do you know, I haven’t seen him since that night when we waved them off at the very beginning of the war?’
‘Surely . . .? Not once since then?’
‘No. By the time he got his first leav
e I was on my way to Serbia. And since I’ve been back he hasn’t been able to get away.’
‘Oh, that’s . . . that’s very sad.’
Leo looked at her. ‘You never liked him much, did you?’
Victoria averted her eyes. ‘Not at first, perhaps. But you remember I told you we met in London, after he was wounded? I thought he was much . . . well, we got on quite well . . . that is, up to a point . . .’
Leo blew her nose. ‘Well, that’s the end of the Malham Browns. Now it looks as if neither of us will leave anything behind for the next generation.’
Victoria got up and moved away. ‘Don’t, Leo! Please don’t talk like that.’ There was a harshness in her tone that surprised Leo. She added, more gently, ‘You don’t know that. We’ll find your daughter, one day.’
‘Will we?’ Leo was absorbed by the sense of lost possibilities. ‘What a pity he didn’t marry before he left. He was always on at me and Tom to name the day, but I never thought of pressing him to do the same.’
‘There was never any question of that, was there?’ Victoria said. ‘I don’t remember him ever having a girlfriend.’
‘Oh, there were always girls flirting with him. But as far as I know he was never serious about any of them.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Victoria murmured. ‘But didn’t you ever wonder . . .’
Leo looked up suddenly. ‘Tom! You don’t suppose, do you . . .’
‘Suppose what?’
‘Do you think he might have been killed, too?’
‘Of course not. Why should you think that?’
‘Tom was in the same company and I know he would have tried to stick as close to Ralph as possible. So if Ralph was hit . . .’
‘There’s no reason to assume that Tom was too.’
‘But I wouldn’t know, would I? Any telegram would go to his mother, and I doubt very much whether she would think to get in touch with me. I’m not sure she even knows we’re supposed to be engaged.’
