Goodbye for Now

by M. J. Hollows

  The farmhouses themselves hadn’t fared much better. They were just as ruined as some of the buildings in the village. Great clods of earth had been thrown up from the ground around them, and the bricks and stones that had been used to build lay in heaps. It was amazing that the artillery had reached this far back behind the line, but perhaps earlier in the war there had been some fighting here. It was hard to tell; one battlefield looked very much like another. It was possible that the BEF had come through here on their early retreats from the German army.

  A large barn stood off to one side, and from the hill it looked to be less damaged than the other buildings. Perhaps the ever-present talk of the artillery’s inaccuracy was unfair. That the barn was constructed out of wood made it even more remarkable. Its sides were painted in a deep brown-red varnish, and the tiled roof peaked in the middle.

  ‘Perfect,’ Tom said at George’s side as they stood taking in the scene. ‘That’ll do nicely.’

  They rushed down the hill, excitement almost taking over. A barn could be a warm place to get some sleep and some rest. They couldn’t have wished for a better place. The cottage at the end of the village now paled in comparison. George almost tripped on one of the ploughed ridges, not expecting the earth to be so hard, but he caught himself, trying not to reach out to Tom as he tripped.

  The pair of them followed a well-trodden dirt path round the side of the barn, looking for the entrance, and hoping that seeing the other side wouldn’t ruin their illusion of thinking the building was complete and unharmed.

  There was a wooden door that hung askew on its hinges, as if it had been used often, but not maintained. It would still be good enough to keep the wind and rain out, even if it did wobble in the slight wind.

  Tom reached out a tentative hand and knocked on the door to see if the farmers were home, or anyone was using it to shelter in. It wasn’t fair to walk into someone’s home unannounced, even if most of the village had been decimated and abandoned.

  The barn door opened a little, and a face peered out. The face was grimy and coated in muck, but a white smile broke out amongst the dirt.

  ‘Can I help you with something, mate?’ the soldier inside said, still smiling at them both. It was more of a smirk than a smile. George couldn’t quite make out the unit badge on the man’s khaki, but there didn’t appear to be a stripe. He was a private, just like George.

  ‘We need somewhere to billet,’ Tom said, indicating the barn with a wave of one hand. ‘And this barn looks nice and big. Big enough for the lot of us to fit in there and be quite cosy.’

  The private looked back over his shoulder theatrically, and then shook his head.

  ‘No room at the inn, I’m afraid, mate.’

  The door opened wider with a gust of wind, and George could see over the other soldier’s shoulder. Despite the darkness inside it was clear there was still plenty of room. There was some straw packed in the corners that some men were fashioning into beds, but there was clear space on the floor to another side, and wooden rafters over one half of the barn that could be accessed by a short ladder.

  ‘Lad, you’ve got to be kidding. There’s loads of room in there,’ Tom said, putting an outstretched palm on the door, holding it back in case the private tried to close it in his face.

  ‘Are you doubting me, mate?’ The smile slipped from the man’s face and his thick London accent grew thicker. His cool blue eyes were piercing. ‘Callin’ me a liar, yeah? Mate .’

  Forgetting the door, he stepped out from the barn and looked Tom straight in the eye. He puffed out his chest – it was an almost unnoticeable change, but George was used to men squaring up with each other. He’d seen it many times before on the docks. Most times it amounted to nothing, both men backing down before it could escalate, but sometimes the men would come to blows. Behind the private, a couple of his accomplices stood up and followed him to the door.

  ‘Look, lad. We’re just looking for somewhere to kip,’ Tom said, standing firm and looking straight at the other solider who was almost a head shorter than him.

  ‘We didn’t even know there was another regiment in this area,’ George added, instead looking at the soldier’s mates and watching them for any signs of movement.

  ‘Yeah? Well I’m saying there ain’t any room in ’ere.’ The private didn’t take his eyes off Tom, not even when George spoke. ‘So why don’t ya just sling your ’ook? Eh?’

  ‘We’ll keep ourselves to ourselves. You won’t hear a peep out of us.’ George knew it was futile, but he had to try nonetheless. ‘We’ll just find a corner and bed down for the night, then we can find somewhere else in the morning.’

  ‘You’re not listening to me, mate.’ He put a hand on Tom’s chest as if to push him back. Tom looked down at it, then back up at the private. ‘There. Is. No. Room.’

  Tom took a deep breath and seemed to stand up taller. He looked over at George. George had already resigned himself to finding somewhere else.

  He almost walked away, but Tom wasn’t appeased. He grabbed the wrist of the private’s hand that was still lying on his chest and wrenched it sideways. The private didn’t cry out in pain but rolled with the movement and brought up an arm. Tom was quicker. He clenched his fist and punched it straight into the man’s face. He didn’t have a chance to block, as Tom’s punch took him off guard.

  George reacted in a heartbeat, stepping behind the private and blocking the door of the barn from the other men, who shouted and rushed after their comrade. George now had his back to Tom, but he was confident his friend could look after himself. He on the other hand had at least three men to contend with, and he hoped that Tom would put out his man to come to his aid.

  The first man that came at George was a small man, and he didn’t have time to take in any other details. It was easy to dodge the first lunge as an arm went up, and George ducked to the side. The second punch was intended for his gut, but he caught it in his left hand and, rolling with it, lifted the small man off his feet and over. He landed on his back and let out an ‘oomph’ of expelled air.

  The sounds of scuffling were still coming from behind him. George didn’t have time to look, and see if Tom was winning. He filled the doorway, like some ancient defender of a long-forgotten castle gate.

  The second man facing George hesitated. He was bulkier than his friend, but possessed a more cautious brain. He looked at George and sized him up, wary. George urged him on, wanting to get this, whatever this was, over and done with. He stopped short of beckoning the other man forward. He began to raise an arm to strike, moving forward, and George braced himself to block the blow.

  ‘What the bloody hell is going on here?’ The shout pierced through the sounds of scuffling and grunting. George spun round, forgetting his oncoming attacker and looking for the source of the shout.

  Tom and the London private held each other by the scruff of their smocks, and with raised arms eyed the newcomers warily. Behind them stood another group of soldiers, with the Sergeant at their head.

  ‘We’re trying to get the lice,’ one of the Londoners behind George shouted to accompanying sniggers.

  Campbell looked fit to burst, and he stepped closer, looking for the man who had spoken. ‘Don’t get cocky with me, son,’ he shouted back. ‘I know exactly what is going on here, so you’d better stop right now.’

  He walked past them all and into the barn.

  ‘Adams, let go of that man right now. Abbott, with me. Now!’

  Tom let go of the private and brushed himself down, straightening his smock and checking his webbing for any tears. The two men scowled at each other. George jumped to follow the Sergeant. The inside of the building was even larger than it had looked through the door, the design making best use of the available space. It looked as if it hadn’t been used for any farming purpose for quite some time. What tools were still there were rusty and old. It was lucky that the fight hadn’t gone further and into the building, otherwise there might have been some serious injurie
s with the shears and rakes that hung on the walls. It was quite a macabre scene, like a hideout for a human butcher.

  Despite the rusty farming implements it was quite warm and cosy inside. There was enough old straw to fashion into beds for the men, as some of the Londoners had already been doing. There were also two layers to the barn, which would provide ample sleeping room.

  ‘Yes, this will do nicely,’ Campbell said as George walked up to him. He assessed the barn very much as George had done, turning around on the spot and taking it all in. ‘We will be able to fit the whole lot in here for a good few days at least.’

  The Sergeant seemed to realise that George was standing there and his expression changed back from being impressed to one of annoyance.

  ‘I expected better from you, Abbott.’

  George was shocked. It was about the nicest thing Campbell had ever said to him in the months that they had known each other. He had always seemed cruel to George, never engaging in conversation and ignoring his ambition. Today was proving to be a very unusual day indeed.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ were the only words George could force out between his surprise.

  ‘Is that all you have to say for yourself? No witty remarks? No bloody mindedly thinking you are always right and that no one else could possibly be right? I know you’ve got a brain in there somewhere. I expected this kind of behaviour from Adams, but not from you.’

  The Sergeant stopped short of knocking on George’s head, but he was once again shouting into his face. It wasn’t a parade-ground shout, he didn’t want those outside to hear, but it was still loud enough to be aggressive and off-putting. George had become accustomed to it over the past few months.

  ‘I… I don’t understand, sir.’

  ‘Of course you bloody well don’t.’

  George just stood, hoping that the Sergeant would explain himself. For a moment Campbell looked as if he was waiting for the same thing, but then he turned and begun counting off places in the barn.

  ‘One… two… three…’ He paused and turned back to George. ‘That’s the problem with you, Abbott. I’ve spent months trying to turn you into a bloody soldier. You might think I’m a horrible bastard, but I’ve been through this before. Nothing quite as bad as this mind, but I’ve seen men die. I had to make you bloody stronger, give you a chance to make it through. That’s even more important now than ever, considering the hell that we’re facing out there. At least you’re good at listening.’

  He stormed straight up to George.

  ‘And yet, you’re still trying to get yourself bloody killed!’

  He didn’t stop and walked past George to the open doorway, beckoning to the men outside.

  ‘Right, I’m taking this bloody great barn for the King’s.’

  There were shouts of complaint from the Londoners, but the Sergeant continued unperturbed.

  ‘You’re welcome to stay if you bloody well want. It’s up to you, but there are more of us than you. You can have one side of the barn, this lot’ll take the other. And if I find you fighting again, I’ll have you all up in front of a Captain. Now get on with you, the sun’s going down!’

  *

  George sat with his back against the barn wall and his knees bent up in front of him. He had piled some of the spare straw in the corner as a bed and now sat on it with his greatcoat pulled over him to keep him warm. Fleas inhabited the straw and bit him, but they were nothing compared to the lice that already lived inside his uniform. At least they would all get a wash tomorrow and, he hoped, a clean shirt for the first time in months.

  The wind buffeted against the outside of the building and squealed as it rushed past. It was a haunting sound, nothing like the horrible wailing of the artillery shelling, but disturbing enough to keep him awake.

  Tom sat next to him in almost the same pose but smoking a cigarette. He had offered one to George, but he had refused it. He wasn’t in the mood.

  He hadn’t been involved in a fight since school, and even then it was only a scuffle. He hadn’t gotten into that kind of argument as an adult and it depressed him. He couldn’t understand what had come over him. The months of fear and doubt had burned brightly in a few moments of rage. He also didn’t understand why the other men had acted like that, they were supposed to be on the same side. It had worked out in the end, and they were lucky not to be brought up on a charge. Campbell had been uncharacte‌ristically kind. He just wanted somewhere to bed down for the night and didn’t care to find a commissioned officer to report them to.

  They sat this side of the barn, and the Londoners had taken up the other side. Each section looked at each other with nervous glances when they thought they weren’t looking. There was a constant feeling of being watched. They were on the same side, but George couldn’t find it in him to trust them, not after what had happened. He knew they’d want to get their revenge somehow. He guessed they’d get no sleep tonight after all. It was a good thing they had taken the side with all the rusty farming tools. At least they weren’t in a trench. At least they were warm.

  Tom blew a puff of smoke out and stretched his back out.

  ‘Why did you do that, Tom? Why did you hit him?’ George said to him, casting a quick glance over at the London Private, who was pretending to be asleep.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He didn’t look at George as he replied, he just looked at his feet. George wasn’t used to Tom acting like this, and it was making him edgy. He just smoked his cigarette and brooded, refusing to look at George. He thought that Tom was embarrassed, but he had never known him to be embarrassed before. This was something else.

  ‘We could have walked away,’ he said, trying to keep the conversation alive somehow. ‘Now look at the mess we’re in.’

  Tom let out a big sigh, as if he had been holding his breath for some time.

  ‘I guess I just flipped. Look, I’m sorry.’

  George looked at his friend, trying to understand him. He looked sadder than he had ever seen him, and George couldn’t remember Tom ever being sad, it wasn’t in his character. He was always chirpy and ready for a joke. He wasn’t sure he liked this new Tom at all. He needed Tom’s confidence to help him through. Without that, what would he do?

  ‘You don’t have to apologise to me, Tom. Never. It’s just that I… I don’t understand. You’re usually the first to stop a fight, to look out for people. I’ve never seen you lose your temper with someone like that before. You’re not acting like yourself. I’m worried.’

  Tom looked at him for the first time in minutes. His eyes were bloodshot, and George thought he could just make out tears in the gloom. He opened his mouth to say something, then looked away again, sighing and then taking another drag of smoke. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments.

  ‘I don’t know what to say, George,’ Tom said. ‘I don’t. It got to me, all of this… this mess. Scrabbling around in the dirt, trying to survive, trying to fight the Germans so that they don’t hurt our families. Then these idiots.’ He swept a hand at the Londoners. ‘These idiots act like we’re on different sides, like we’re not good enough for them. What, then, are we fighting for?’

  It was George’s turn to not know what to say. He just grunted instead. Hoping Tom would either continue or cheer up. Anything but silent brooding.

  ‘I just flipped, George. I know it’s not right, and I know it could have got us, and may very well have got us, into trouble. But in a way it also felt good.’

  He looked up, his eyes boring into George’s.

  ‘I’m not ashamed to admit I’m scared,’ he said, earnestly. He searched for another cigarette in his smock and with a click of flame he lit it.

  ‘I think we’re all scared,’ George said, not wanting to look at Tom as he said it.

  ‘Yes, you’re probably right. However, I’ve never felt like this in my life. In the trench I feel like I’m out of control. I thought that my stripe would give me some kind of benefit, some kind of power, or set me out from the rest, but in the tre
nch we’re all the same. Just as likely to get hit by a stray shell or shot by a sniper. The Germans don’t care if you’re an officer. In fact, I’m fairly sure they seek us out. It’s no good.’

  He took another drag.

  ‘When that private was squaring up to me I couldn’t help myself. It was the first time that I felt like I had an enemy, not just some unknown soldier a few metres away across the mud.’

  He gave George an apologetic shrug.

  ‘For the first time in my life I felt in control. Like, I could do something and be in charge of my own actions. It was incredibly freeing. I’m ashamed to say I actually enjoyed it. Well, what I mean to say is that I didn’t enjoy fighting him, but the sense of power, of freedom that it gave me. Though I’m glad the Sergeant turned up when he did. I don’t think we would have lasted much longer against that lot.’

  The others now appeared to be sleeping.

  ‘You can say that again,’ George said. ‘I had three of the buggers to contend with, you only had one.’

  Tom laughed, but it sounded hollow and distant.

  ‘Yes. Thanks for having my back, lad. It always makes me feel better to know you’re here with me. No matter what. We’ve been through a lot together, you and I.’

  ‘We have, and I wouldn’t have wanted to do it with anyone else. I’m so glad we signed up together. I couldn’t imagine being here without you.’

  Tom didn’t need to reply, they just looked at each other and smiled. It was the first time either of them had spoken like this, and it felt good. Friends were important in life, and even more important when faced with adversity, the kind of adversity that war presented them with.

  ‘Here, George,’ Tom said at length. ‘I want you to have this.’

  He reached into a pocket of his webbing and pulled something out, something that glittered in his hand at the reflected light of the lanterns in the corner. After a moment’s longing hesitation, he passed it to George. It was a lighter, one of the more modern ones that didn’t need a separate flint and spark. Like everyone else in the army, George had taken up smoking. If you didn’t beforehand, you would do afterwards.