Made in Myrtle Street (Prequel) (19 page)

She clearly wouldn’t let young Edward push her about like big brothers try to do. He’ll be getting his comeuppance there when he gets older if he doesn’t watch himself. Edward lit another cigarette and drew the relaxing smoke deep into his lungs. He tried to stifle the resulting cough because he didn’t want to be joined by any of his mates. Young Edward would have been eleven on his last birthday. He’s probably changed a lot by now. He’ll have grown bigger and stronger with that job he’s got at the greengrocers. It’s to be hoped he’s behaving himself for his mother. He’s always been quite sensible, especially seeing as now he didn’t have his dad there, but sometimes the tricks that he would get up to would land him in trouble. Just like me as a lad, though.

Edward suddenly felt a cold shiver running down his back. The way this lot was going young Edward might soon be left without a Dad altogether and he’d have to shoulder the burdens of the eldest male in the family. His own Dad had died when he was only two years old so he knew what it was like to be without a father. But the difference was that he had had his older brothers who gave both protection and guidance and he’d also had his sister, Sarah, with whom he shared all his secrets. For young Edward it would be tough and he would lose out on so much of his childhood. And then what about Laura? How would she cope on her own? There would be the widow’s pension but that was barely enough to survive on.

In the distance he could see the setting sun burning red behind the black line of the desert. On the right, hills rose uncomfortably out of the flat horizon. He threw his cigarette away and stood up, brushing the sand off his clothes. It needed some hills on the left.

‘Who the Hell cares about how many stars there are, anyway?’ he raged at the cold Egyptian moon.

***

Shalufa Camp

Suez

Egypt

8
^th
April 1916

Dear Pippin,

First of all let me wish you a big Happy Birthday because it will almost be your birthday when you get this and then you will be a whole nine years old. I wish that I could be there to give you a nice birthday hug and kiss but, unfortunately, I am stuck out here in the desert.

We have been helping to build a new camp for the extra soldiers that are coming here and it is now like a small town.

I am enclosing a little present from Egypt so I hope that you like it. I bought it from a village near here when we had a bit of leave. It is a headband and we watched the women making them. They are very clever doing the tiny little stitches. I chose one that is mostly green because I thought that this will go with the colour of your hair. Perhaps you will be able to wear it for school.

I was very sorry to hear about Floppy but I’m sure that your Mam knows what is best. Tails are very important for rabbits so he would probably have found it very difficult not to have one. Some of the soldiers here have really strange pets that they keep in boxes. One man had a scorpion but it bit him when he was trying to teach it to do tricks so he squashed it. Billy Murphy’s Dad has a pet rat which he races against other rats. They’re not very good, though, because they never go straight. Mr Murphy says that he would have had a camel but they spit at you and that’s not very nice.

It’s starting to get extremely hot here during the day and it makes it very difficult to work. We get up really early in the morning and then have a break in the middle of the day. In the evening, when it gets a bit cooler, we might have a game of rugby or football or, occasionally, some of the lads put on a bit of a show in the ‘Theatre Royal.’ It’s quite a laugh, especially seeing them trying to do the ladies’ parts.

Sometimes in the afternoons we have horrible sandstorms and the wind blows the sand into your food and your clothes. It gets everywhere and there seems to be no escaping from it.  You even find it inside your kitbag.

Last week we spent three days digging a big trench then a sandstorm started and within a few hours it was all filled up again. We were a bit upset but you just have to knuckle down and get on with it.

You can tell your Uncle Jim that we have been working with a lot of native carpenters and they are very clever. They have some very strange tools which I am sure must be the same as those that Jesus and his father used to use. It’s funny to watch them because they have no shoes on but they climb all over the place.

Tell your Mam thank you for the lovely fruit cake that she sent. She told me that you helped her to bake it so a big hug and thank you to you as well. There were eight of us that shared it and I told them that it was your early birthday cake. They all shouted out ‘Happy Birthday Laura.’ I shouted loudest of all.

Help your Mam with looking after everybody, won’t you.

Take care of yourself, Darling.

Love

Dad

X X X X X X X X X – kisses for your birthday

Chapter 10

Kantara, Egypt – July/August 1916

On the 22 July 1916 the 1/8 Lancashire Fusiliers found themselves on a train heading for Kantara in the north of Egypt and Edward’s carriage buzzed with excitement as the soldiers faced the prospect of a scrap with the enemy during the next few days. It had been seven months since they had returned from Gallipoli and they had worked hard to get back their fitness and enthusiasm. Their memories were still vividly with them but they felt that out here they could have a proper battle in territory that they had grown familiar with. At least this time they would be there honourably and legitimately defending this country against an invading army.

Edward and Liam gazed through the train window at the endless miles of desert sand, the distant hills transformed to shimmering brightness by the midday sun. ‘Wonder what sort of show this will be?’ Edward ruminated, ‘They reckon there’s about twenty thousand of them heading for Kantara.’

The fearsome Cyril Whitehouse, having unwittingly found himself in the same carriage as his tormentor, Liam, and then having been drawn into a discussion on the merits of Swinton’s pack, now made his contribution to this new debate. ‘That makes twenty thousand daft sods then, if they’ve spent the last two weeks marching over here in this heat.’ Cyril, pleased with his contribution to the debate, replaced the cooling, wet handkerchief over his head. He had struggled all day trying to decide whether to use his water ration to drink or to assist in this head cooling procedure. Eventually, after an offer by Liam to let him share his own water ration – a move which had enabled the profusely sweating Cyril to see a slightly more endearing side to the nature of ‘the stupid little bog bomber’ – he had finally settled on the head cooling option plus a few mouthfuls in between.

‘The CO reckons that the Turks have been told that they will be given holy protection because it’s Ramadan and they will sweep all the infidels out of Egypt,’ offered Liam, anxious to lift the debate to a plane where he thought Cyril might be slightly less willing to offer his contribution.

‘Aye, and an eternal after life in paradise if anything goes wrong,’ grunted Edward, returning his gaze to the window as he spotted a small group of trees on the approaching horizon.

‘At least it gives us chance to do something for all those poor sods who turned their toes up in Gallipoli to get no bloody where,’ rejoined Liam clenching his fist.

‘That’s it. Give ‘em a bloody good hiding. That’ll make those lads rest a bit better,’ muttered Big Charlie from the corner, succinctly summarising the feelings of all of them.

They would have the chance to do something for the memories of their mates whose bodies now lay abandoned in Turkish fields and, at the same time, they might just do their bit to move this horrific war out of the territorial stalemate that had developed.

In the middle of July, information had been received that a large Turkish army, led by German officers, was advancing across the northern desert. Once again, the Lancashire soldiers were forced to admire and respect the courage and determination of their Turkish counterparts. They had made the long march across the desert in extreme heat and with only occasional water supplies. Now the British forces were being reorganised into a mobile column to counteract this new threat.

Over the next few days, in camp at Kantara, preparations for the coming confrontation were hectic. Equipment was stripped down to a minimum and wheeled carriages, which were useless in desert conditions, were replaced with vehicles fitted with pedrails to allow them to be hauled across the sand. Additional drilling tools, troughs and pumps were brought in to sink wells and improve the water supply. The massive task of finding and organizing thousands of camels went ahead at pace. Many of the camels were equipped with fanatis – metal water tanks that were strapped on either side of the animal – whilst others were fitted out to carry the tons of other equipment.

Meanwhile, General Lawrence, the commanding officer for this newly created Brigade, was devising his strategy for tackling the approaching army. Spotter planes had been reporting on the progress of the Turkish army since the 21st July and Lawrence was deploying his troops in a pattern that would lure the Turks into a carefully laid trap.

On the morning of 4th August Edward awoke to the sounds of battle coming from the direction of Romani, to the north of where they were camped at Hill 70 in Kantara. The Turkish attack had begun. The soldiers of the 1/8 Lancashires rose quickly and prepared themselves. Carefully trained into exactly what was expected of them, they were eager for the affray and anxious to achieve a victory after the humiliating stalemate of Gallipoli.

On the train to Pelusium they settled in their seats, smoking and talking excitedly, shouting through the windows at soldiers hanging out of the windows of neighbouring carriages and joking like schoolboys off on a seaside trip.

The apprehension, that sharp edge of fear, was still there but it was more contained. This action had been carefully thought through by a man with a deep understanding of the country and a profound affinity and respect for the Arab. They also felt that in this confrontation they would have the chance to contribute to the result with personal skills, courage and judgement rather than going over the top like lemmings to an almost certain death in a hail of machine gun bullets.

Liam could barely contain himself. Every few minutes, he would jump out of his seat and clamber over the outstretched legs of his friends to get to the window. There he stared into the shimmering desert in front of him, listening attentively. ‘They’re still at it. I can hear some heavy stuff going in now so the Aussies must have pulled them into the trap. The jocks will be giving them a bloody good hiding now. Tough sods they are. Frighten the socks off a bloody donkey if one crossed ‘em. Some of the Manchesters went up last night. Wonder if they’re getting stuck in yet.’ Liam addressed his commentary to anyone who would listen but, after a while, few did. Despite this, he seemed content still to pursue this agitated, but now one sided, discussion.

The train came slowly to a halt in Pelusium in a juddering diminuendo of steam whistles, screeching brakes and clunking buffers. The station was a scene of intense activity with Arab porters working alongside British soldiers to unload the masses of equipment that had been brought up on the train. Members of the Catering Corp darted fussily about amongst their equipment, arranging and sequencing the crates whilst keeping a watchful eye on their native assistants to ensure that nothing disappeared into any of the numerous dark alleys. The excited and noisy chatter of the Arabs belied the slow and methodical pace with which they approached their tasks and blended with the gruff curses of the sweating Lancashire tommies and the more cultured, barking instructions shouted by the officers.

Edward stepped from the train and into the wall of hot, damp air inside the station. He was assaulted at once by the symphony of sounds and smells that was the hallmark of the typical Egyptian town. The noisy voices of the locals now augmented by the clattering hooves of the sweating horses as they towed away the heavy gun carriages, the trains blowing clouds of steam into the air and the combustion engines in the lorries that were being coaxed, spluttering and coughing, into life. The heady mix of spicy aromas, cooking smells and the less hygienic vapours that resulted from poor sanitation, hung like a heavy cloud over the town.

Edward half smiled. It was noisy and vibrant but it was familiar and safe. He was part of a team and he understood clearly how he fitted into it. He knew that there was a big show going on nearby and he had been trained and rehearsed in the part that he had to play alongside his mates.

Moments later he was struggling to contain this good humour he felt as he spotted a woeful looking Liam emerging from one of the shadowy alleys opposite the station. His friend had set off on a mission of mercy hoping to find a home for his pet rat, which he had imaginatively named ‘Ratty’, as he was reluctant to expose it to the dangers of the anticipated battle with the marauding Turks. Sadly, the first Arab that he had offered it to for safekeeping had inquisitively lifted the sliding door of its wooden box home whilst Liam was still searching for some suitable words of explanation. His surprise on seeing the emerging whiskers and beady eyes of this hated vermin had been so great that he had slammed the door back down on the head of the unfortunate Ratty. The grieving Liam, relieved by this grim mischance of his rodent responsibilities, had buried the box and its now lifeless contents under a palm tree before hurrying back to his unsympathetic mates.

They worked tirelessly, despite the merciless heat, in transhipping the supplies and equipment over to the nearby camp.

A message had been received from the front line in the middle of the afternoon stating that the Anzac Brigade was in need of support against the Turkish attack near Mount Royston. This was south of Romani which was itself a good six miles march south east from Pelusium. Within three minutes of their detraining, the 5th, 7th and 8th Manchesters were marched off into the desert without the benefit of any transport. They didn’t have time to try the stew that had been prepared for their lunch and they didn’t even have the support supplies of water as the camel train that they were expecting had not yet arrived.