Made in Myrtle Street (Prequel) (32 page)

‘Well, just write to her and tell her about this. She’ll be upset if she hears from somebody else,’ Edward suggested.

Frank Williams was in discussion with the Captain of the Manchesters who was explaining that his battalion had suffered heavy losses that morning. He said that there was a well embedded machine gun position in the trench at the front of the farm and that there was a sap trench with an observation post running directly from the main trench. It was from there that they were feeding back the movements of the British troops and it was almost impossible to make progress without being seen.

He told Williams to take his unit to try to take out the sap and he would, at the same time, attack the MG position with the Manchesters. They discussed a few more points then rejoined their respective units. The rain had eased by the time that they set off but the ground was still a quagmire. They made slow but steady progress enjoying the cover for a while of some low lying hillocks. The gun fire seemed to be concentrated across to the North for the moment and the German artillery was intermittently firing towards the Allied lines half a mile to the West.

They were within fifty yards of the sap trench when the shattering explosions flung them to the ground. As they painfully picked themselves up from the muddy earth they looked around for the cause and to check for any casualties. The cause soon became clear. The Germans had obviously seen them and were putting mortar shells over from the sap. Another came over from the main trench but fell short. They found two of the recent recruits from England lying in a crater, unable to crawl up its slippery sides. Another shell came from the sap and exploded with terrifying ferocity in a nearby shell hole. The tons of mud that roared up into the air cushioned the blast but covered the British soldiers in its filthy slime. Williams shouted at the men to keep low and help to get the two injured men out of the crater.

He took four men and the Lewis gunners with him and traversed in a wide arc towards the head of the sap trench. After various attempts to rescue the men, which failed because of the depth of the hole, Liam took off his belt and fastened it round his ankle and Big Charlie’s wrist. Then, with two men anchoring Big Charlie’s legs, Liam was lowered gently into the hole where he reached down and pulled the men up the muddy wall. One had a broken arm and the other slight concussion.

As they strapped the man’s arm, Frank Williams returned, his face grim and taut. He had got near enough to lob a couple of grenades at the observation post but the mortars in both German trenches were peppering the area so heavily that further progress was impossible. There were no other British units in the area. They had all been driven back by the fierce, and seemingly unbreachable, German defences. The Captain of the Manchesters had already signalled that he had failed and was heading back. Williams told them that their present position was untenable and they had no alternative but to try to get back to their lines safely.

Mortar shells continued to fall but without too much accuracy. The grenades thrown at the OP had done their job and the operators in the trenches clearly couldn’t get a fix on their positions. The soldiers made their stumbling way out of the vicinity of the shell fire, sharing the burden of their injured comrades as they slithered perilously along the narrow tracks. There were stretches where they were visible to the German gunners but the fire was spasmodic. They had lost interest in their now retreating foes.

Eventually, they reached the edge of the woods where they had left the ailing German soldier. There were now five miserable, wet men in grey uniforms huddled together for warmth. They had thrown their own rifles into the mud. ‘I don’t know about shock troops,’ Liam mused, ‘but it will give them a big surprise at the office when we take this lot in.’

Four of the German soldiers rose unsteadily to their feet but the fifth remained prostrate under the trees. ‘Er ist sehr krank,’ the original prisoner said, pointing towards the man on the floor. ‘Not good.’

The Germans tried to lift their weakened comrade but their own enfeebled condition meant that they could barely raise themselves. The face of the fair haired young man sprawling limply on the ground had, already, a deathly pallor. Big Charlie stepped forward, checked to make sure that there were no broken limbs then poked the dying young man in the ribs. The German’s lips moved slightly. ‘It’s ok. Ich trage ihn,’ Big Charlie told the group of Germans, ‘I will carry him.’ Bending down, he gently picked up the dying man.

The original prisoner, struggling with his emotions, put his hand on Big Charlie’s arm. ‘Er ist mein Bruder,’ he said. ‘My brother.’

***

29 Myrtle Street

Cross Lane

Salford 5

Great Britain

25 September  1917

Dear Dad,

We are back at school now but it is a bit boring because we might have to have all our hair cut off. The nit nurse has been round and Freda Higginbottom is full of them and they said that we might all have to be treated. Mam has got a special comb and she said that none of us have got nits because she makes sure that we are looked after properly. The teacher said that they are called head lice and I told her that you get rid of them over a lighted candle. She said that I know too much for my own good sometimes but I told her that that is what my Dad does.

We don’t have any wild animals around here so you are very lucky being able to see all those. I have been looking them up in a book at school and you should be careful of those foxes because they can be a bit sly. I wish we could have some of those chaffinches though. We only have sparrows. We hardly ever see any pigeons now because people trap them.

Our Edward has told our Ben that he has got a girlfriend at a house he delivers to and he gave her a kiss in Buile Hill Park. Our Sadie wants to know if she wears clogs like us or is she posh. Mam said that there is nothing wrong with clogs and they are no better than we are just because they don’t wear them.

We had a ceremony in the street last week for the opening of the roll of honour. The Mayor came down and made a speech and Billy Murphy said that it was the same speech that he had made in their street the day before. We all had to put on our best clothes and then we took them off again an hour later because the Mayor had gone home. They left horse muck and straw all over the street after we had spent all morning cleaning the road ready for them coming. Mr Kirkstall with no legs from round the corner, sat in his chair and cried all the way through. Then somebody brought him a big glass of that whisky stuff that Uncle Jim likes and afterwards he started singing and then Mrs Kirkstall started crying. Old Mr Cooper took his pipe out of his mouth, which he doesn’t do very often, and sang a song for his son because they didn’t know where he was, and Mrs Cooper was singing and crying at the same time. Mr MacFarlane came out of the pub and marched down the street playing his bagpipes then Mr Simmons went in his house and came out with a big piano accordion that he pumped up strapped round his neck. He was marching behind Mr MacFarlane and then some more people came out of the pub and one had a mouth organ. They all stood singing near the new roll of honour. Mr Simmons took one of the flowers out of a wreath that we had made – well it was one that Billy Murphy brought round from their street because they had finished with it and we put a new card on it – and he sang one called ‘Will Ye No Come Back Again.’  Mam said it is Scottish, which it probably is because Mr MacFarlane knew it, and Mrs Cooper started crying again then nearly everybody was singing and crying at the same time. It was getting a right miserable do but Mam brought out a tray of treacle toffee so that was better for all the kids.

Dad, I hope that you don’t mind but I have decided to keep those socks because I forgot to put a heel in one of them until I had gone past it and I don’t want chilblains again when it gets cold.

Our Ben has passed his second class certificate for swimming so he can go to the baths for a year without paying.

Love

Laura

***

Oblinghem

France

11
^th
December 1917

Darling Pippin,

I so enjoyed your letter about the ceremony to dedicate the Roll of Honour in the street. I told Mr Murphy and some of the others about it and we had a good laugh. We needed something to cheer us up and that was a real good tonic. We were in a place called Nieuport at the time on the coast of Belgium and it was a pretty depressing place. The destruction to the villages and towns is beginning to get us all down but it must be worse for the locals. In Nieuport there is a large canal that runs through and it has three bridges that cross it. The Germans have positions on high ground outside the town and every night they shelled the bridges and every day we rebuilt them. They think that it is some kind of game but it was not very funny for us in this awful weather.

The whole of the area is very flat and miserably muddy. Sometimes we spend all day on little islands in the river hiding behind low shelters and hardly daring to move because you would be seen by the Germans. Fortunately, there are still parts of the town which are largely undamaged where life goes on more or less as normal. We go into town when we have got time off and have a beer in the bars.

They speak a very funny language here. I have been told that it is a mixture of Dutch and French but it could be Double Dutch for all I can understand it. It makes you very homesick, sometimes, when you sit in a cafe and you don’t understand a thing of what is being said. I would give anything for one of your Mam’s hot pots with a thick pastry crust on the top. With some nice pickled red cabbage, of course.

Our Edward is getting quite a young man now if he has a girlfriend. I won’t ask him about her, though, or else he will guess that you have told me so it will have to be our secret. I sneaked a kiss once off your Mam when we were fishing on the cut canal. She said that it was like sucking a stickleback. I was very hurt so I didn’t try again for quite a few years. So that’s another secret that we have.

Your Mam told me that you have been reading a book called ‘Little Women’ and she says that you hide away in the corner and ignore everyone. I used to enjoy reading when I was young but it was difficult to get hold of books then. Our entertainment was mostly found out in the street and down at Peel Park. We used to help out round the market whenever we could, to earn a bit of extra money. Sometimes we got paid in kind by the stallholders who gave us some of the stuff that hadn’t sold. It was good fun but it wasn’t great schooling. Knowledge gives you strength, Darling, so keep enjoying it. Maybe one day you will be another Emily Pankhurst. You might not have heard of her but she is the lady that has been fighting for women’s rights, especially for their right to vote. She is a Manchester girl, born in Moss Side, and her Dad owned Goulden’s Calico Printers in Salford. We all have to be willing to fight for our rights and to be respected for who we are so I admire Mrs Pankhurst for devoting so much of her life to this. Her daughters are very keen supporters and I read in the Reporter that there are a number of ladies in Salford who are in the Women’s Movement. I hope that they succeed. They deserve to. There are too many of us in Britain who are treated as second or even third class citizens.

I have sent a little parcel with some bits and pieces for everybody for Christmas. It’s not much, but it is difficult to get hold of things when you’re doing a job like this.

Happy Christmas my little one. I can’t tell you how much I would like to be there to share it with you all.

Love

Dad

Chapter 15

Vaudricourt, March 1918

‘Vous voudrez le meilleur?’ the young woman enquired. She was pretty, with long dark hair, but her eyes were tired and her smile more fixed than welcoming. She was the daughter of le patron and, although they came to this bar quite often when they were on free time, they found that she distanced herself from the visiting soldiers with her quiet, but powerful, authority.

The room had cheerfully painted walls and a smoky ceiling. A local artist had, at some time, decorated the top half of the walls with sensual, though clearly agricultural, females. The tables were heavy cast iron with marble tops but the chairs were a motley mix of styles and quality. The bar was popular with the British troops who welcomed the draught beer and enjoyed the local wines, and they savoured its authentic charm. It was also frequented by the older locals and the British soldiers delighted in the small exchanges that they were able to make with the few French words that they had acquired.

Big Charlie shifted uncomfortably under the searching gaze of the young French waitress. He never felt at ease in the presence of attractive females and the minimal contact that he had enjoyed with any member of that sex during the last three years had only served to erode his confidence further. Her dark eyes stayed on Big Charlie as she waited for a reply but the words were nowhere near forming in his brain. He wasn’t certain, even, whether she had been addressing him in English but he did know for sure that he hadn’t understood a single word.

He had always felt discomfited when young women spoke to him. He was usually the butt of their jokes. He was a chance for them to sharpen their humour and then to walk off arm-in-arm, laughing as they enjoyed their minor intellectual conquest. He sometimes thought of suitable responses but they were always too late. Even the day after. When his Dorothy had come along and seen in him qualities that others had missed, he couldn’t believe his good fortune. She was bright and funny but not at his expense. She saw in him a gentle, caring and protective temperament and she understood his dark moods of frustration.