A Song in the Night (46 page)

Tuileries (Support Trenches) April 15th 1917

There’s a sense in the air that something’s going to happen soon, Emily. It’s common knowledge that mining operations have been going on in this area for months now. Jimmy and I recently got talking with some miners from the North East who’ve been brought over here to work in tunnelling teams alongside the Royal Engineers. They told us they’ve been laying tunnels to various points deep beneath the Messines Ridge – and packing them with explosives. According to these chaps, our boys are about to blow the whole ridge into the sky any day now! We’ve not heard anything official about it all yet, mind. But I have to say, those fellows certainly seemed to know what they were talking about. I can’t help hoping they’re right, Em. I’d love to see that ridge go up. But you’d have to be in our position to understand why I say that. Let me try and give you the picture.

The ground we hold at the moment along the Ypres sector is a wedge of land that juts out into the ground held by the enemy – if you can try to imagine it. Instead of two armies ranged against each other in straight lines, our front line bulges forward into the Boschs’ territory so that they almost surround us. That means they can fire on us from three sides at any one time if they feel like it. Not only that, but they hold the ridge of high ground to the south of Ypres which looks right down on our position – that’s the Messines Ridge I was talking about. Geographically, they’ve got a real advantage over us. They’re able to watch practically every move we make. We’re easy targets really. Don’t get me wrong, Em – we put up a pretty stiff fight, and our gunners give them a merry time of it, that’s a fact. But while ever the Germans hold that ridge of high ground, we’re vulnerable. I find it a thing of amazement that we haven’t all been picked off already. Every day one manages to survive here is a little miracle. Meanwhile, we carry on with our orders, hoping that someone, somewhere amongst the brass hats is going to come up with a bright idea to break the stalemate we’re in.

Life here in the trenches goes on as normal. Now the freezing weather’s behind us, the ground is quickly becoming churned up again. It’s an exhausting business; tramping in full kit, bringing up supplies, hauling telephone wire and ammo – working parties, carrying parties, every kind of party you can imagine – while the mud sticks to your boots and everything seems to weigh twice as much as it should. (It reminds me of that day our two families visited the sea many years ago. Do you remember it, Emily – when we tried to race along the soft sand and we kept falling over because our feet were so heavy? That’s rather how it feels. Alas, our present situation is not so picturesque as that was, nor so peaceful.)

Yes, I have to say, Em, the idea of seeing the Bosch blown off their perch is an attractive one. After all, you can understand that we’re getting a little weary now. Any encouragement would be welcome. Sometimes it feels as if this war will go on forever. Who would have thought that men could witness the things that we have seen and not go mad? And yet, my dear, brave Emily, you have seen things too. Things no woman should ever have to look upon. Oh my dearest, how I long to see your face again – I can’t bear to think that I might not live to look upon it one last time at least.

Zillebeke (Front Line Trenches) April 24th 1917

Death comes ever closer, Emily. Yesterday I felt its breath and wondered if it had come for me …

It had been a lively day. Since early that morning, the British gunners had fired numerous barrages towards the enemy lines, and the German guns had responded generously in kind. Now as darkness fell, things had eased off considerably. Sam’s company found itself once again in Zillebeke, this time manning the trenches on the front line. The men in his platoon were killing time.

“You lot, take it in turns to try and get some kip while it’s quiet,” the platoon sergeant instructed. “I’ll be down later if anything kicks off.”

A young lad’s voice sounded in the darkness. “Anything planned for tonight, sir?”

The sergeant ran a grimy hand over his face. “I’m gonna have a word with the officer in a bit. I’ll probably be back later for some volunteers.” He moved off down the trench and disappeared into another bay.

“Volunteers,
my –
” Twinny One spat out a vulgarity. “Anybody else gettin’ fed up of this game?” He lobbed an empty tin over the parapet in frustration. A sniper’s bullet whistled through the black night in reply. “
Dodge the Shell
, followed by
Dodge the Sniper
, followed by …”

“Followed by
Dodge the Firin’ Squad
if you don’t put a sock in it,” his brother grinned. “What’s up with you tonight? You’re like a bear with a sore head.”

“He would have been if yonder tin
had
been his head!” someone joked.

Twinny One came out with another string of unsavoury comments. “Don’t tell me I’m the only one here who isn’t havin’ a whale of a time.” He cursed again. “My foot’s killin’ me. I swear my toes are workin’ loose.”

Sam had noticed that Twinny One had been limping for the last couple of weeks. Come to think of it, Sam reflected, the disgruntled Twinny had been moaning about his foot for the last couple of
months
. Probably trench foot. Not that he was likely to get much sympathy from any of the lads. After all, everyone was in the same boat. No one could avoid standing around in the waterlogged trenches; it was just part of the job. So what if
your
boots happened to let the mud seep through and your feet swelled up and became so painful you felt like wrenching them off? That was your hard luck. You certainly couldn’t bunk off over something like that. There was a war to be won – feet or no feet.

As the night wore on, a drowsiness descended on that section of the trench. Some of the men dozed, some smoked, some chatted in low voices. Apart from the occasional distant shell, the guns had fallen quiet. It seemed that both sides were ready for a rest. Boxer had been sitting by a small oil lamp reading his Bible. Now he put it back in his haversack and stared down at the ground, his expression grave.

“I have a bad feeling about tonight, Sam.”

Sam’s heart lurched. He knew Boxer well enough to know that he wasn’t in the habit of spreading gloom. If Boxer had a bad feeling about something, there was probably good reason for it. “Reckon we’ve all had it then – think they’re gonna try and spring another trench raid on us or something?” Sam tried to laugh, but Boxer’s words had disturbed him.

Boxer shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno, Sam. I dunno.” He squatted down into the bottom of the trench. “I’m gonna try and pray a while.”

Sam nodded and reached into his bag for his diary. Maybe he should write something more for Emily – it would be a distraction at least. A terrific burst of fire suddenly broke overhead. It made him jump. He sighed resignedly and put the diary away. He’d write later. He wasn’t really in the mood just now. Boxer’s presentiment had made him nervous.

“Game o’ cards, Sam?” Twinny One hissed in the darkness. “Might take me mind off me ruddy feet.”

“Yeah – why not?”

Moving over to a pile of sandbags where an oil lamp was casting its soft, yellow glow, they began their game. From further down the trench came the sound of muffled guffaws as some of the lads talked and joked, trying to wile away the time. The card game had been going for almost twenty minutes when Twinny One looked up.

“You got a girl, Sam?”

The question took Sam slightly by surprise. For a moment he wrestled with the idea of disclosing his feelings about Emily, but somehow he hardly wanted to bring her into the trench. Some of the boys might get smutty about things if they found out. He’d heard their coarse remarks about other girls. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone tarnishing his Emily.

“No, not really.”

“
No, not really
, eh? Sam, you old rascal! That mean you’ve got several in mind?” Twinny One winked at Sam and laid his handful of cards on a sandbag. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a small photograph. “
I’ve
got a girl. Here she is –” He handed the photograph to Sam. A young woman smiled up from the worn print, dark curls framing the delicate features of her face. Twinny One’s eyes were shining with pride. “She’s called Tilly. We’d been walkin’ out together four months before I came out here. We plan to marry when all this is over. I asked her in one of my letters and she wrote back straightaway to say yes.”

There was a tenderness in his voice which Sam had not heard before. He smiled as he handed the photograph back. “She’s lovely. You’re a lucky fellow.”

Neither had noticed Twinny Two moving towards them. He suddenly grabbed his brother in a headlock from behind and ruffled his hair violently. “Is he gettin’ all soppy on you, Sam? Showin’ you his little Tilly, is he?” He plonked down beside them with a grin.

Twinny One shook his head in disgust and put the photograph back in his pocket. “You’re only jealous.”

“Too true.” Twinny Two threw an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “I’ve already told you what I’m gonna do tho’. On yer wedding morning I’m gonna lock you up in a cupboard and go marry the lass meself. See how long it takes before she notices. Mind you – it’ll be too late by then!” He threw his head back and laughed raucously.

Sam looked from one to the other. With their identical pale red hair and green eyes, it was hard to tell them apart. A small childhood scar on Twinny Two’s left cheekbone did make the distinguishing process slightly easier.

Twinny One rolled his eyes at Sam. “Just let ’im try it –” He gave Twinny Two a hefty shove so that he fell headlong onto the trench floor. “She’d be able to tell the difference with her eyes shut, matey. Somethin’ to do with that distinctive smell that follows you around.”

“Keep it down, you two,” the sergeant’s voice hissed as he approached them. “Save your energy for later – you never know when you’re gonna need it.” He signalled to the other soldiers in the bay to gather round. “The RE’s need a carrying party. I want about ten of you.” He randomly counted off ten heads and gestured them to follow his lead. Finding himself among the number, Sam turned and caught Boxer’s eye. Boxer patted his shoulder. “Go on, mate,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll be praying for you.”

Sam soon found himself at the back of a line of shadowy figures. The sergeant quickly gave orders to the group, then signalled them to advance behind him. It was in everyone’s interest to draw as little attention as possible to their movement. As quietly as they could, the men began to pick their way along the communication lane, artfully manoeuvring over duckboards which slipped and sucked beneath their feet. For this part of the journey, they had moved from behind trench cover and were completely reliant upon the darkness to shield them from the enemy’s view. Indeed, the night
was
very dark, the moon for the most part obscured by thick cloud. From time to time it would make a brief appearance, illuminating the shattered landscape with eerie, silver light. Then just as quickly, it would slip coyly back behind its cover, and tired eye muscles were forced once more to stretch and strain in the blackness. Several yards up ahead, Sam could just make out the hobbling outline of Twinny One. Poor chap; he was probably struggling to put one foot in front of the other.

They had gone about three quarters of a mile when a huge explosion sounded not far from their position. The sergeant signalled them to stop and the group froze to an immediate halt. For a few moments they stood rigid in the darkness. Sam’s heart pounded as he remembered Boxer’s warning. Every nerve in his body seemed to tighten as Very lights suddenly rose into the air, brightening the sky for miles around. It felt like they were on stage, with all the German army as the audience.

There came a second explosion. Sam heard something whizz past his ear. Eight yards in front, Twinny One jerked violently and smacked onto the duckboard. Another whistle and there were screams from further up the line. Sam rushed towards his friend and bent down. For a moment or two he could barely make anything out, but as more flares climbed into the sky, he could see quite clearly.

Twinny One was groaning gently. “Get someone to have a look at me feet, pal –” he rasped. “They’re bad today.”

Sam swallowed in horror as he looked down. Twinny One
had
no feet. He had no legs at all. A piece of shrapnel had torn them both off and flung them some several yards to the right of the duckboard where the soldier was lying. All that remained was a mass of bloody pulp which was fast colouring the ground underneath him. Sam could see that his friend was losing consciousness. He put his hand into the Twinny’s tunic pocket and pulled out the photograph of Tilly. He pressed it into the dying man’s hand and bent down to his ear.

“Here, mate,” he said gently, his voice cracking. “Your lovely girl. Kiss her goodnight before you go.” He moved the Twinny’s hand towards his face so that the photograph was touching his lips. Twinny One murmured something and then he was gone. Sam began to shake. Death had come too close this time …

It was hours before we were able to retrieve his body, Em. I hadn’t been able to get him back on my own, so we had to wait till nightfall again to go back along the duckboard. We didn’t want to leave his body out there, him being a mate and everything, so we sneaked out under cover of darkness. Incredibly he was still there. Often they disappear into the mud without a trace. His brother was mad with grief, coming along behind us holding one of his tattered legs of all things. We buried him in a little copse and had a makeshift service for him. I plan to write to Tilly and tell her how her brave boy died. I find the whole thing heartbreaking, Em. Only hours before, his mind was full of happy plans for the future. Thank heavens his Tilly never saw him in his final moments. We’ve lost six men from our unit and the platoon sergeant has been badly wounded. I can hardly believe I managed to come through unscathed myself. I actually heard the thing that killed Twinny One – it very nearly got me first. Maybe I have Boxer’s prayers to thank for my being spared.