A Song in the Night (53 page)

For a moment Jimmy seemed to think about his words. Then his face relaxed into a broad smile. He nodded and extended a hand towards Boxer. As Sam watched his two friends exchange their rough handshake, he felt strangely on the outside. So; Jimmy belonged to Jesus too, did he? Whatever that meant. But with just an hour to go before the action, it hardly seemed the right time to start asking for explanations.

“Listen at that!” A low whisper from Boxer cut into the darkness. Sam listened. Nightingales. Singing their hearts out. The whole front deathly quiet, not a shot to be heard – and nightingales were singing. It was a peculiarly beautiful sound.

“Thank God our madness hasn’t driven them away,” Jimmy murmured quietly.

Boxer looked up at the stars with a satisfied smile. “He’s letting us know he’s still with us. All creation praises him. It will always be that way.”

At 3.00 a.m., men for the first wave began to scramble out of the assembly trenches into position. At 3.05, Sergeant Bandy reappeared in Sam’s bay with Captain Mackie. “Everything alright here?” It was a statement rather than a question. The sergeant swept the trench with a glance. “Don’t forget, lads – keep your wits about you and wait for the signal. We’ll make short work of ’em this time.”

Sam saw the officer glance at his watch, his expression taut and inscrutable. It made Sam feel nervous and excited at the same time. Jimmy was right; the waiting was the hardest bit.

Three minutes to go.

As the nightingales continued to sing, Sam closed his eyes and tried to think about home. Home … and Emily.

Captain Mackie checked his watch again. One minute.

Sam’s heart was thudding now. The tension in the trench was palpable. Thirty seconds. Twenty. Ten. Zero …

A tremendous rumbling began to shudder through the ground beneath them. Some of the men exchanged glances. Sam turned and caught sight of the officer. The expression on his face had changed, and now it bore a smug, almost boyish glee, like that of a child about to spring a major practical joke.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion shook all the earth around them. The noise was so terrible that, for an awful moment, Sam wondered if someone had detonated the whole world. There was momentary panic as several of the men were flung backwards by the force.

“That’s Hill 60 gone up,” Sam overheard Captain Mackie say to the sergeant. Gingerly, Sam lifted his head above the parapet and looked out. What he saw shocked him. The notorious Hill 60 had been blown into the sky, and out as far as the eye could see were flames. Flames everywhere. The whole Messines-Wytschaete Ridge seemed to be on fire. A flash of pity went through him for the Germans positioned in that seemingly invincible stronghold. Surely none of them would get out of that inferno alive. Another huge explosion sounded somewhere far away to his right, compounding the already deafening noise. All around, billows of black smoke and smouldering debris choked the atmosphere. Feeling his throat beginning to burn, Sam rubbed his eyes then stared at the blazing landscape. In all his time at the front he had never witnessed anything like it.

A sudden burst of spontaneous cheering erupted in the trench as the realisation dawned that the first stage of the operation had gone well. Captain Mackie grinned encouragingly. “So far, so good. Looks like we really caught them out there. But it’s not over yet. We still have a job to do.”

A terrific roar broke out from the heavy guns behind them, signalling the start of a massive artillery bombardment. It was a strangely comforting sound. Sam thought about the infantry going over in the first wave and wished them well. The sky was darker now and thick with the aftermath of the explosions. But there seemed to be little return fire from the enemy. The element of surprise was obviously paying off.

Sergeant Bandy’s voice sounded through the trench. “Right, listen up. Our guns are gonna be poundin’ the lines the whole time. Just before we go over, our boys will send in a creeper and we follow in behind that. You go over when you hear the whistles – nice and steady, open formation. Remember, don’t rush it or you’ll end up on the end of our fire.”

That was the thing about creeping barrages. You had to make sure you stayed in the right position at all times. The artillery would start up a barrage, the shells initially dropping quite close to the home lines. The infantry would then come up out of the trenches and follow in behind the artillery cover. The tactic required the artillery to advance the range of its shells by degrees, whilst all the time shielding the infantrymen heading towards the enemy line. It was a precise art. If a shell fell short, it could end up killing the very troops it was supposed to protect. Get it wrong, and for the infantry it was like being fired on by both sides. Knowing that the gunners were covering you as you scrambled out into no man’s land was supposed to be a kind of reassurance – some big, powerful brother figure looking out to make sure you got home safely. But there were times when it went horribly wrong.

A few moments later the rum rations came down the line and each soldier eagerly took his due. There wasn’t enough to inebriate a man. Just sufficient to numb his common sense and allow him to walk into a hail of fire without thinking too much about it. Several minutes passed as a subdued apprehension fell over the trench.

“Fix bayonets!”
The order sounded down the line. The men obeyed as quickly as trembling fingers would allow. For some of them, this was the biggest action they’d seen since arriving at the front. But even for the most battle-hardened soldiers who’d been out here since early in the conflict, moments like this never really got any easier. Sam was well into his second year out here; right now, his heart was thudding in his chest.

“All the best, you two. I’ve prayed for you both.” Boxer turned quickly to Sam and Jimmy and clapped a hand on each man’s shoulder.

The whistles sounded. A furious scrambling as men climbed from their trenches to begin the advance. The air was acrid with shellfire and Sam was struggling to see who was ahead of him.
Nice and steady – don’t rush it.
Sergeant Bandy’s words echoed in his brain. He pressed on, the blood pulsing through his head as the sound of gunfire screamed in his ears. It was hard to know the direction the shells were coming from. Were they firing back?

When he saw Captain Mackie stumble a few yards in front of him, his question was answered. A sniper’s bullet straight through the neck. Sam ran over to him but could see straightaway that the captain was beyond help. His eyes were still open and he fixed Sam with a bemused stare.

“Anything I can do for you, sir?” Sam ventured, raising the officer’s head gently.

The captain’s face contorted as he tried to swallow. He moved his lips with great effort. “Hoorah for England,” he whispered. “Go to it, Tommy …”

That’s all I can recall, Em. Something must have hit me soon afterwards because the next thing I remember was waking up in the CCS with a terrific headache and a shrapnel gash on the top of my scalp. The MO says it’s only surface or I wouldn’t have made it. So far, I’ve not heard how our platoon went on in the operation. I’ve no idea if we lost anyone else. The only one I can speak for is Jimmy.

It seems that about nineteen mines went up almost simultaneously – a great success they’re calling it. News has got back here that a lot of the Irish lads at Spanbroekmolen went up with the mine. Not sure how accurate that is, but it’s a darn shame if it’s true. I’ll be glad to get back to the line and find out what’s what, but the MO hasn’t given me clearance yet. Well, Emily – this has been rather a long account. The relative comfort of the CCS leaves me more time than I know what to do with. Oh my dearest, how I long for happier days.

____________

It was Tuesday afternoon. Up in Yorkshire the sky lay heavy with cloud. Rosie had arrived the previous evening, unpacking and settling into her room as though she’d never been away. She’d seen little of Ciaran. He’d come downstairs briefly the night before to say hello, but had disappeared again soon afterwards. Cassie had tried to assuage Rosie’s concerns. “He’ll be alright, love. He just needs time. We’re all dealing with it in different ways.”

Rosie hadn’t seen him at all that morning. She’d spent most of it with Cassie. Now she’d come up to her room and was sitting on her bed, poised to e-mail Jonathon. She felt slightly disappointed that he hadn’t replied to her last message. Perhaps the news of her move hadn’t gone down as well as she’d hoped. Or perhaps there’d been a glitch in the system and the thing had never arrived. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Hi Jonathon –

Don’t know if you got my last e-mail. Just to explain if not – I’m now officially living in Ridderch Standen until further notice. All Cassie’s idea! If you get in touch I’ll explain everything. Just one entry this time. It took a bit of typing up.

Bye for now

Rosie

She closed down and clicked the laptop shut. The ball was firmly in his court now; it was up to him to make the next move. The last thing she wanted to appear was pushy.

She decided to try looking in on Ciaran. After knocking on his door and receiving no response, she gently creaked it open. Ciaran was sitting by the window, his back to her. Closing the door behind her, she padded quietly over to him.

“Hi, Kitch.” Her voice was as gentle as she could make it. He gave no reply, but continued to stare out of the window as though she wasn’t there. Moving closer to him, she put a hand on his shoulder. “Missed you.” She waited. Still no reply. Not even the slightest flicker of acknowledgement. Rosie felt utterly helpless as she looked at him. She knew there was nothing she could say to take away her brother’s pain, nothing she could do to bring Beth back and make him smile again. She’d had barely one decent conversation with him since Beth had gone, and now it seemed he wouldn’t even look at her. Indeed, suddenly it seemed that hardly anyone was thrilled to welcome her arrival in Yorkshire. Cassie was enthusiastic of course; it had been her suggestion after all. But Ed had been terribly quiet, spending most of his time ensconced in the huge shed he used as his painting studio. The benefit of the doubt she’d afforded to Jonathon only a little while earlier seemed suddenly a bad idea too. He was obviously dragging his feet about getting back to her. And now, even her own brother …

She wished Beth could be there.
She
would have been happy to see her. She’d always been happy to see her. How she missed Beth. She might not show it like Ciaran; she might not even allow herself to feel it like he did. But she missed her so badly. For a moment she pictured Beth in her mind’s eye. Beth full of life – laughing and teasing, happy and carefree, the way she’d always been. The best friend anyone could have asked for. But the picture was soon replaced with an image of Beth laid out in the chapel of rest, cold and still. Even now it seemed unreal, and it made Rosie feel sick.

At that moment, Ciaran reached out and took her hand. His grip was weak, and Rosie could feel that his whole body was trembling. She squeezed his fingers gently, a wash of guilt flooding over her. He wasn’t ignoring her. He was simply broken. She stayed there for several minutes. Neither of them said a word, but an unspoken understanding seemed to pass between them, and when Rosie left the room a while later, she knew that only time would heal this heartbreak. For all of them.

Later that night as Rosie was on her way to bed, Cassie stopped her on the stairs. “It’s your interview tomorrow, isn’t it, love?”

Rosie nodded. She was already feeling nervous about it.

“I won’t be able to come into town with you, I’m afraid.” Cassie’s tone was apologetic. “One of the girls in church has been wanting to give me a massage and a bit of a makeover. You know, manicure, pedicure – that kind of thing.” She looked slightly embarrassed. “I don’t normally go in for that sort of stuff, but Kay seems to feel it’ll help me with the grieving process. So I said yes. She has a little salon a couple of villages from here. She booked me in for tomorrow … before I knew about your interview.”

Rosie smiled at her. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. You just enjoy your day.”

“Ed can drop you off in Northallerton – there’s no problem there.”

Rosie shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I need to learn how to get about on my own, now I’m living up here.” Just saying the words felt strange and she grinned.

Cassie smiled too. “I’m so glad you are, Rosie. I felt most unhappy thinking of you down there all by yourself.” She reached out to hug her. “I hope you come up with something tomorrow, love. I’ll be praying for you while I’m having my nails done.”

They said goodnight and Rosie went up to her room. It was almost eleven, but though she was tired, she couldn’t shake off the urge to check her e-mails. She quickly logged on and started to get ready for bed. Five minutes later she logged off again, disappointed. Her inbox was empty. Still no reply from Jonathon. She tried to shrug it off as she climbed into bed. Why did it matter anyway? She was up here now, whether he liked it or not. But as she tried to settle down to sleep, she realised it mattered very much.

____________

The woman at the employment agency introduced herself as Paulette Sharp. She was bright and enthusiastic, and confident she would have no trouble finding Rosie the perfect placement.

“How long have you worked with children, Rosie?”

“Five years. Since I left school.”

Paulette flicked through Rosie’s paperwork. “NVQ Level 3 Early Years Care and Education … . You trained on the job?”

Rosie nodded. “A lot of evening work too.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Paulette continued to read. “Your former employer e-mailed me a good reference for you. You’ve come highly recommended.”

Rosie made a mental note to take back all the mean things she’d ever said about her supervisor.

Paulette’s face creased into a slight frown for a moment. Then she looked up. “Have you ever worked with older children, Rosie? I mean children older than nursery age?”

It was Rosie’s turn to frown. “How old are you meaning?”