All I Have to Give (8 page)

‘Keep your heads low, lads. Keep pushing forward.’ Enemy fire whizzed past him as he shouted this.
Please, God, don’t let me name be on a bullet today!

An order of ‘Fire at will’ came to him. Looking to the east and west, he saw very few young men still on their feet, but to those that were he shouted, ‘Keep firing. It may
just stop the bastards from raising their ’eads. And keep close to me.’

The words had hardly died when a body catapulted into the air and landed in front of him, tripping him up. His hand squelched into the pulp of the body’s chest as he tried to pull himself
up. Sickened, he screamed, ‘You fucking bastards – I’ll kill the lot of you.’ But his words were lost in another explosion to the left of him.

Stones and clods of mud hit him, bruising and cutting his skin. Then a bigger object hit his shoulder, sending him off-balance again. It landed at his feet. He stared at the hideous sight of a
boot with a leg that had a shattered bone, hanging sinews and a bulging muscle protruding from it as though it was vomiting them out of its severed end. His tears mingled with his snot as he felt
for his ammunition.

Reloading his rifle, he shook his head to try and clear the muffled effect the last explosion had had on his hearing – not that he wanted to hear the screams or the cries for help from his
comrades, but not doing so made him feel as though the world had deserted him, as a lonely feeling took him.

Ready to battle again, he charged forward. There were lads with him, but he couldn’t say how many or who they were. As he squinted through the fog of smoke and dust, what he saw made his
heart sink into his boots.
Christ, the barbed-wire barrier is still intact!
The barrage of bombs hadn’t cut through it. They were doomed.

A bugle sounding the retreat came through the fog in his head. Would he get back to the trench alive? His eyes seared with pain as they took in the sight of a field of bodies. His feet squelched
in a river of blood.

Looking towards the German trenches, he focused on where most of the fire had come from. A machine-gun barrel protruded from a gap in the sandbag wall, but to the right of it he spotted a gaping
hole. A bomb must have had a direct hit. ‘Get rid of your packs and follow me,’ he said to those remaining.

Rolling under the twisted wire, he had to tug himself free more than once, ripping his grey coat to shreds. ‘Come on – do it. We have to take that machine gun out.’ As he
spoke, the gun swung towards them. ‘Lay low, lads.’

But the gun swung away and fired into a group of retreating soldiers. The Germans must not have seen him and his men.

They were at the sandbag wall now. Looking through the hole, Albert could see no movement and not a German in sight. Motioning to his men, he scrambled through, rolling down and clambering up
the other side. They were behind the German lines!

In front of them was a scene not unlike the one he’d left: bodies in hideous positions strewn along the bottom of the trench, and the backs of a dozen or so German soldiers intent on
shooting ahead at the retreating Allied forces. Still on their bellies, and above and behind the enemy, Albert knew they had to take them out in one assault, if any of them were to get back to
their own trench. ‘Right, lads, get your Mills bombs at the ready. When I say “go”, all get up together, pull the pins and throw and run like hell. You’ll have seconds to
get out of range. Right, ready? Go!’

The blast rivalled any that had been heard during the bombardment of the last few days. Stones, mud and bits of human body parts pelted Albert. But when the dust settled and he looked up, what
he saw made him want to cheer. He opened his mouth to do so, but only a croaking sound came from him, rasping in his throat and choking him. There wasn’t a German soldier alive for as far as
he could see, and their killing machine was blown to smithereens.

Getting up, he shouted, ‘Run, lads! Get your packs and get yourselves back to our trench. But remember, this is only some of them; there’s more, so keep your heads down, and good
luck.’

Running for all he was worth over what seemed like a carpet of bodies, Albert felt the pity of it all, as he apologized a dozen times to lads that he trod further into the mud and the bloodbath
beneath his feet. But, somehow, he didn’t think they would mind, and he could almost hear them cheering him on: ‘Run, Albert, get back for us; do it for your lads, Corporal!’

Jumping the last yard and sliding down the sandbags, he landed in a heap, his body hitting the bottom of the trench where the baked mud made for a hard landing. For a moment he stayed still and
waited, unable to process what was happening in his mind. Then the sickening sound of screams for help and agonized moans penetrated his confusion once more. The gunfire had stopped. Looking up, he
saw so few lads – not even a quarter of those who had gone over remained.

Orders rang out: ‘Any able-bodied men, fall in for stretcher duty. Come on! We are the lucky ones, so let us help those not so lucky.’

Fear left him. He was needed and he would answer the call.

Darkness had fallen before the last moan of death hailed the end of another disastrous day. Having carried countless wounded back to the trench, whilst burial parties worked at
getting the dead underground, Albert was on his last trip out. There were four lads with him. In twos, they helped a couple of wounded and set off back. ‘I’ll go a bit further.
I’m sure I heard something,’ he told them.

Reaching the barbed wire, his white flag held aloft, he heard the sound again. Going over to where it came from, he found a young lad hanging over the wire netting. Only his torso, arms and head
remained intact. Lighting his face with his torch, Albert saw it was a lad he knew: Andy Phelps.

The beam of light showed the agony and fear in the lad’s eyes. ‘Don’t be afraid, son. Trust in God: He will deliver you to a land of peace and ’appiness.’
How I
can say these words, and with meaning, when I cannot believe them? I do not know. But they give hope, and that is all that matters.
And Albert saw the hope. He saw the lad’s fear go and
peace take hold, just before his last breath escaped from him, never to be drawn again. ‘Rest in peace, son. You’ve done a good job.’

Making his way back to the trench, Albert allowed his sobs to go unchecked, as his memory took him back to the time a few weeks before when he’d taken that same lad – just turned
eighteen, and one of the last volunteers before conscription – to the tent hospital. He was a nice lad, who was more concerned with the trouble he thought he was causing than for himself.
Edith had mended him and he’d been sent back for duty just this morning. Now he was gone.

Albert reached the trench without problems. One thing could be said for both sides: they never shot at the enemy whilst they collected their wounded and buried their dead. He looked at the
huddle of defeated boys. ‘Come on, lads, we ’ave to lift ourselves. This ’as been a bad day, but we are needed. We ’ave to get all our wounded brothers to the Red Cross
clearing station. Look sharpish, and fall in to ’elp the medics.’

As he said this, he realized that Jimmy wasn’t with them, and yet he’d seen him go over with the burial party. Calling over to a group that he’d seen Jimmy with, he asked,
‘Where’s Jimmy – has he come back in yet?’

‘He’s down there,’ a shaky voice answered. ‘Hurry, Corporal, he needs help.’

An alarm went off in Albert, but he stayed calm. ‘Righto, leave it with me.’

Jimmy could see his pals swirling around inside his head. Most of them dead or wounded. They were his new mates – those he’d made since joining up – and Eric
and Arthur, whom he’d known since birth. His mind went over and over how he’d had no choice but to step on Arthur’s body as he fell just in front of him, and how they’d only
gone a few feet when Eric had fallen to the side of him. But when they were burying the dead, he hadn’t found either of them. At least he hadn’t been able to recognize anyone he could
say was them.

The images began to fade as he thought of his brothers. He’d love to feel their arms around him, or even to hear them teasing him, but at least they were at peace and finished with this
lot. They weren’t sitting in this stinking pit of hell.

Unable to control his limbs from shaking, he was distracted by a scratching sound.
Rats! The rats are coming!
They lurked around every corner, just waiting to pounce on him. Rats bigger
than their next-door neighbour’s cat back home. They would get him, he knew that. Their beady eyes shifting around in their heads always found him and focused on him.

Trying to banish them from his mind, he concentrated on thoughts of his mam and dad and a normal life: folk at the factory, a beer at the pub. Even though not of age, the landlord had served him
in the pub yard and had told him to enjoy it. ‘But always keep it in moderation,’ he’d told him. ‘Don’t drink it like your dad does, Jimmy lad. That’s no way to
enjoy beer – swilling it down your neck, one after the other. It makes you do things you wouldn’t normally do.’

Aye, Jimmy knew them things. He’d witnessed his dad when drunk, beating his mam when she didn’t deserve it.
No! That’s not a good thought. Think of how good Dad is when he
isn’t drunk – a gentle, kind man, who is proud of me. Well, there’s nowt to be proud of now, Dad, because I’m done. I can’t go on.

Now was the time. As he lifted his gun towards his mouth, a noise to his left caught his attention. Looking towards it, he saw a furry black rat standing on its hind legs.
They’re
coming for me! The rats – they’re coming for me . . . Arghhh!

‘JIMMY! God, what the ’ell do yer think yer doing? Christ! Shut that racket up and pull yerself together. Fall in and ’elp the medics.’

It’s Corporal Albert. He’ll stop the rats. He’ll stop my body from shaking.
‘Help me . . . Help me – they’ll eat me. I’d rather die by the
gun.’

‘No, Jimmy. No!’

His gun was twisted away from him, but he wouldn’t let go; he needed it. He had to have it, had to take himself away from all the rats.

Strong arms lifted him. A shot rang out. Burning pain seared his hand. Corporal Albert’s anxious voice penetrated the deafness that the blast had rendered on him. ‘Christ! It went
off. Your gun went off – Christ!’

Other voices now. ‘What happened, Corporal?’ ‘Is Jimmy all right?’ ‘Move out of the way; let the corporal through.’ ‘You’ll be reet, Jimmy.’
A northern voice. Eric? Arthur? No, they’re dead!

‘DEAD! You’re all going to die – the rats are going to eat you!’

‘Take no notice of ’im; he’s delirious. Get out of me way, lads, I’m taking ’im to the ambulance. It was an accident. He’ll be all right. Doctor Edith will
’ave him back ’ere in no time.’

The words of the corporals and those of the lads wishing him well swam around Jimmy’s head, as he sank deeper and deeper into the blackness that took him.

Getting into the first available ambulance to leave from the first-aid post, where they had applied a dressing to the stump that had once been his right hand, Albert decided to
go with him to the hospital. The thirty miles or so to Abbeville seemed like a hundred by the time they reached it. Other cases took the stretchers, but not wanting to wait for one to come back,
Albert carried Jimmy the hundred yards or so into the hospital. With each step, Jimmy’s body took on the weight of a sack of coal. Albert’s knees buckled as he entered the main
tent.

The sight that met him pulled him up. Never in his life had he thought to witness what looked like a thousand men crying in agony. He’d heard tell of the expression ‘a sea of
blood’ and had used the phrase himself, but not even that could describe the mass of blood dripping from the broken bodies and pooling around his feet.

Gaping holes showing flesh and bones, severed arms and legs, heads bandaged so that just eyes peered out and, above it all, the noise, the blood and the horror. Edith called out orders:
‘Take number five to “Heads”, and numbers six, eight and nine to “Stomachs”, seven to “Limbs”. Prepare the rest for immediate operations. I have sent for
Captain Woodster, and he is bringing anyone he can find to help us.’

Her voice had a tired edge to it. And yet, though covered in blood and with her hair matted to her face with sweat, Edith looked magnificent. Her tiny frame had taken on the stature of a god, as
light shone from her in the form of hope.

When her eyes focused on him, her face lit up. His darling girl. Once again he asked himself,
How can this wonderful woman – this lady – have feelings for me?
But she did.
And though theirs was a forbidden love, one day there had to be a way they could be together.

‘Albert! Are you all right? What are you doing here?’

This last question would be because Edith knew he wasn’t due his rest period yet and shouldn’t be out of the trenches. But he’d tasked one of the lads with telling his officer
that he’d have to take Jimmy to the hospital himself, and hoped that would make his absence all right. He was sure it would, as they were used to him helping the medics when the fighting was
over. Telling her about Jimmy, he was careful to add that the lad’s injuries were an accident. ‘He’s in a bad way, mentally as well, Edi— Ma’am.’

Albert waited while Edith tended to Jimmy. Still unconscious, the lad didn’t stir.

‘He’ll have to be operated on, but the wound is clean, so I’ll make sure he stays asleep for a while, as we surgeons will be working flat out, and God knows when we will get to
him.’

Comforted by the knowledge that Jimmy would be all right, he nodded. Then whispered, ‘Edith, can I see you for a moment?’

Her face took on a worried look. ‘I have so much to do – I’m sorry. How long now till your rest period? I know you said, but I’ve forgotten.’

‘It didn’t mean that much to yer then?’

‘Oh, it did! I – I mean, oh, I don’t know – all of this,
it . . .’

‘I know, it wipes out normal life; even stuff yer look forward to can diminish in its importance.’

‘I – I’m sorry. I have thought about it. I’ve thought about it a lot. I just forgot the actual timing of it.’