Liverpool Angels (19 page)

E
ddie drew deeply on what was left of his cigarette and then dropped the butt on to the floor of the trench; there was no need to extinguish it for the weather had broken yesterday and the mud had quickly seeped up from between the duck boards. For a week now the bombardment had gone on day and night and the air was thick with smoke and the stench of cordite, which stung his eyes and made his throat feel raw. His ears and his head ached from the incessant thundering; it had been impossible to get any sleep. Between them and the front-line German trenches was no man’s land, a strip they called the ‘racecourse’ because apparently that’s what it looked like from the air. Five hundred yards of untouched greensward but covered with thick, ugly, murderous coils of barbed wire. He thought again about the letter tucked into the inside pocket of his tunic. The letter addressed to Harry which he’d been handed with the mail for all of them. The letter he’d forgotten about when Jimmy had been wounded. After Jimmy had gone to the dressing station he’d remembered it and he’d recognised Mae’s writing. He’d had a strong suspicion that she was writing to Harry to tell him about the American he’d seen her with in Boulogne and he’d decided, after much deliberation, not to give it to his mate. Things were bad enough for Harry – Jimmy wounded, conditions as bad as ever and knowing an offensive was in the offing – without getting news like that. He supposed he’d have to pass the letter over eventually, but not yet. Not today.

Dawn was now breaking but the rising sun of the July morning was obliterated by the thick smoke and they all knew that in an hour or so the bombardment would cease and then . . . then the flag would drop, whistles would sound and they would climb the scaling ladders and go over the top. He was dreading it – his guts were already knotted with fear – but at least he would be doing
something
; it was this interminable waiting that they all found so hard to endure. It had sent a couple of the lads mad: they’d been taken away shaking and gibbering or screaming; it had been very unnerving. They were dug into the assembly trenches east of Talus Boise, below the German-held village of Montauban and to the right of the depleted French force.

Jimmy and Harry Mercer stood beside him, Harry leaning his head on his arms against the trench wall, his eyes closed, trying to blot out the noise. Jimmy was gripping his rifle so tightly with fear that his knuckles were white. Tommy Mitford was passing equipment up the line.

‘What the hell is all this?’ Eddie yelled irritably.

‘Waterproof sheet, iron rations, ammo, Mills bombs, entrenching tool, field dressings . . .’ Tommy rattled off.

‘Christ! We won’t be able to move carrying this lot as well as a rifle and bayonet,’ Jimmy shouted above the din.

‘Stop bloody moaning!’ Tommy bawled back, managing a pale imitation of his usual infectious grin.

‘I wish this damned din would stop. It’s as though every wretched shell is exploding in my head,’ Harry muttered to himself, although he was fully aware of what would happen when it did stop. He thought of Mae: whatever happened to them all today at least she was safely behind the lines in Boulogne. He knew she would be kept busy today but he hoped she would think of him.

The odd ray of strong sunlight now penetrated the haze of smoke as they stowed the additional items of kit in their backpacks and shifted uncomfortably in the line.

‘Remember what we all promised,’ Jimmy reminded them and they nodded. They’d made a pact that so far as it was humanly possible they would look out for each other; it seemed the only chance they had to get through the next hours and days. ‘And I just hope this bombardment has cut through that bloody wire,’ he added to himself.

At twenty-five past six the guns ceased firing. The seconds of silence that followed were somehow eerie, Eddie thought, but there wasn’t much time for further coherent thought as the scaling ladders were brought up, the flag fell and they jerked into action, following Captain Dixon up the ladder and over the top of the trench.

Gunsmoke still swirled around as they stumbled forward, weighed down by their packs.

Harry’s stomach was churning with fear as he moved forward through the smoke but he kept going. He was almost blinded by the flash as the shell exploded but he didn’t feel the shrapnel as it tore into his chest; he only felt himself falling slowly to the ground. It wasn’t easy to breathe and then he heard his name being called and peered up through the darkness that seemed to be closing in on him. He could hear Jimmy’s voice very faintly, telling him he was going to be all right, but he couldn’t see his brother’s face. He tried to reply but he was choking and the darkness was pressing down on him. He couldn’t see and now he could hear nothing. He felt as if he was drifting away from the battlefield but before the darkness claimed him completely he thought for the last time of Mae.

All Eddie could see ahead of him were flashes and columns of smoke erupting like small volcanoes. There were smaller flashes and he knew that was machine-gun fire; lyddite shrapnel burst all around him but he had to go on, despite hearing the screams of men falling around him. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision, trying to see where the twins and Tommy were but it was impossible to make them out individually. He didn’t even know where he was supposed to be going. He tripped and stumbled but as he got to his feet he recognised Captain Dixon over whose prostrate form he’d tripped; he’d been shot through the head. Who were they supposed to follow now? he thought frantically. Where should they be headed now? All he could do was stagger on and hope.

Within a few yards he tripped again, screaming as pain ripped through his left arm and he fell into a shell crater. He was shaking with terror and his arm was throbbing fiercely but after a few seconds he gingerly raised his head and peered over the edge of the crater. A figure lay sprawled in front of him: whoever it was had to be alive for he was moaning in pain. Eddie reached out and managed to drag the man into the hole beside him. It was Jimmy; the lower half of his right leg was mangled, the bone exposed and gleaming horribly white against the shredded flesh.

‘Jimmy! Jimmy, mate, it’s me, Eddie!’

Jimmy grasped his arm and Eddie yelped in pain. ‘I think I’ve got shrapnel in my arm, but we’ve got to get some kind of tourniquet around that leg or you’ll bleed to death. Where’s your Harry and Tommy?’ he asked, trying to extract his field dressings from his pack and also trying to ignore the agony this caused him.

Jimmy’s face was drawn, he too was trembling violently and tears began to slide down his cheeks, making clean rivulets on his dirt- and smoke-streaked cheeks. ‘Both . . . gone. I . . . I stayed with Harry until . . . Told him he’d be all right but his chest . . . ripped wide . . . open! Oh, Jesus Christ! What’ll I tell Mam? Then . . . then I got hit in the leg.’ He was sobbing now as Eddie was desperately trying to tighten the bandage he’d managed to wrap around Jimmy’s leg but the effort was too great. ‘Jimmy, pull this as tight as you can. Pull! Pull, for God’s sake! I can’t, not with this arm,’ he yelled.

Jimmy did as he was instructed and when he had calmed down a little they both leaned back against the wall of the shell hole. ‘Captain Dixon’s dead too. What happened to Tommy?’ Eddie asked dully.

Jimmy rubbed his hand across his eyes, trying to blot out the images of the past few terrible minutes, which were like a kaleidoscope of horror. ‘I . . . I don’t know but just before our Harry . . . fell, I saw Tommy go down, roll over and . . . and lie still, just staring up at . . . nothing.’ It was all too much and Jimmy broke down again.

‘Pull yourself together, Jimmy, lad! Don’t think about it now! We’ve got to get the hell out of here, we’ve got to get to the dressing station.’ Again he gingerly raised his head and yelled ‘Stretcher!’ until he was hoarse and he realised that either he couldn’t be heard or there were no stretchers or bearers available. ‘We’re on our own, mate,’ he informed Jimmy. ‘Can you get up?’

Jimmy tried but it was obvious he was unable to even hobble.

‘Right, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to carry you.’

Jimmy was dizzy with pain and shock. ‘How . . . how . . . with your arm?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with your arms, Jimmy. Hang on to my shoulders, I’ll carry you on my back, my legs still work. We promised to look out for each other, remember? There’s just the two of us now.’

Slowly and with some manoeuvring and groans and cries of agony from them both, they managed to drag themselves over the edge of the crater. Shells and bullets still burst around them and Eddie had no idea in which direction the field dressing station was but he staggered on determinedly. Harry and Tommy were past help now but Jimmy wasn’t.

He had no idea just how long it had taken them but they were both close to collapse when at last and by good fortune they staggered into the pile of rubble which was all that was left of the village of Montauban, now in Allied hands, and found the crowded dressing station. It was chaotic so, propped up against the remains of a stone wall and utterly exhausted, all they could do was wait until someone came to attend to them.

It was growing dark when finally an orderly shook Eddie gently. ‘Name, rank, battalion, lad? I can see for myself it’s your arm,’ he said, looking at the torn and filthy blood-soaked uniform sleeve.

‘See to my mate first, would you? His leg’s in a mess, he’s lost a lot of blood,’ Eddie urged.

Jimmy was almost unconscious so Eddie gave his details, which were scribbled down on a card and placed in a waxed envelope and tied with string to Jimmy’s tunic. A similar one was attached to him. ‘Christ!! We’re just like bloody parcels now,’ Eddie muttered.

The orderly, clearly exhausted, ignored him; he dressed Jimmy’s leg as best he could and then Eddie’s arm. ‘You’ll be taken to the clearing station in due course,’ he informed Eddie.

‘How and when?’ Eddie demanded. It was fully dark by now so he realised it must be after half past ten; they’d been wounded early that morning and Jimmy was in a bad way.

‘He’ll have to wait for a stretcher but I can’t say when he’ll get one. We’ve been inundated all damned day and many of the stretcher-bearers have been wounded too.’

‘He’ll be bloody dead by that time!’ Eddie protested.

‘I can’t help it, lad. There are worse cases than him still waiting.’

Eddie dragged himself to his feet. ‘How far is it? I’ve carried him this far, I’ll carry him the rest of the damned way! I’m not leaving him here to die!’

‘Half a mile down the road, that way. From there they’ll take the pair of you by train to a hospital. It’s the best we can do, lad.’

Eddie nodded and the orderly helped to hoist Jimmy on to Eddie’s back again. ‘Just hang on to me, Jimmy! We’re going to make it, don’t you worry. We’ll both be going back to Blighty now so just hang on, mate.’ He gritted his teeth as he staggered forward.

Both Mae and Alice had been told that there was to be an offensive along a fifteen-mile front and that casualties would be heavy. The hospital had been partly cleared, medical supplies increased and all medical staff from units not involved in the offensive had been drafted in. To add to their apprehension they learned from Sister Harper that all save two sisters were to be sent up the line to the clearing stations.

‘But that’ll leave just two sisters in charge of twenty wards!’ Mae had replied, shocked.

‘I’m fully aware of that, Nurse, but there are staff nurses here and you’ll all just have to manage,’ Sister had replied. ‘The powers that be consider it absolutely necessary that experienced staff be at the clearing stations,’ she’d added grimly. She was not looking forward to going herself.

‘And God help us if they are all like that Staff Nurse Thomas,’ Alice had muttered as they’d left the office. ‘She thinks all we’re fit for is skivvying.’

‘Oh, just ignore her, Alice. We’re experienced now, we’re used to the convoys, but if it’s as bad as Sister thinks, it’s going to be the worst we’ve faced. But we’ll all just have to cope,’ Mae had replied.

On the morning of 1 July Pip drove into the hospital compound early, just as Mae was going on duty. ‘I’ve brought you a patient, Mae.’

‘He’s not the first, is he, Pip? The battle hasn’t started, has it?’

He shook his head. ‘No. He fell awkwardly in one of the communication trenches, he’s broken his leg, but I think he’s relieved in a way. He told me that just before he fell the bombardment had stopped and the ladders were being brought up, so I guess that by now it’s gotten under way.’

Mae nodded. Only occasionally and if the wind was in the right direction could the sound of gunfire be heard here – faintly. ‘I think we’re as prepared as we can be, Pip. How soon do you think it will be before the first casualties arrive?’

He shrugged. ‘It all depends on how long it takes them to get from the field dressing stations to the casualty clearing stations, then the trains, then us and finally the hospitals – and that will all depend on just how many wounded men there are.’

‘We’re both in for a busy time, Pip.’

‘Sadly yes, Mae. Let’s hope it’s all a success this time.’