Quite Blown Away
'Well? Are you coming? Jozef?'
A grimy hand shook him awake. Blinking in the smoky dimness of a waterlogged trench, Jozef shook his head and rubbed red-rimmed eyes.
'To where?'
'Popperinge. Talbot house.'
The younger man sat heavily on the rickety bunk and raised his half rotten boots out of the mire. Jozef scratched hard at his shaved head and swung into a half sitting position. He had heard much about Talbot House and all of it good. Perhaps he would even have a moment in the Chapel. Not to talk to God for God had long since abandoned this ex-Jew in favour of quieter less frightening surroundings? But a hot bath, some quite. That was appealing.
'Better than a whore house eh?' he exchanged a wry grin with the Lieutenant who had been in the habit of frequenting a local brothel until one of the lovelies shared an unexpected gift with him that kept him bandy legged and raw for some weeks.
Outside, the air was only slightly less foetid than the large dugout. It had been strangely quiet all day, even for a rear-guard resting area. Here and there the ground was a mass of upturned earth, every yard dotted with pockmarks. Barbed wire and a pale blue winter sky, burnt sienna earth and the fast fading light gave the flatness of the landscape an eerie beauty that was not lost on either man as the picked their way through the water logged ditches that passed for home.
Once on the road they stepped out briskly passing the observation post bordering the road from Ypres to Bosinge on their left. Beyond was the drained bed of the Yser canal and further on again was the area known as Langemarke, held by the German forces. A number of cottages lined the road the other side of the observation posts, long since abandoned, forlorn finger fireplaces pointing skywards like the skinny hand of an undernourished woman. These had been places to explore once during the days of boredom but had been placed out of bounds on all but the murkiest of days once a fellow too many had been picked off by a German sniper.
Although the rooms had been badly damaged by shellfire, Jozef loved to clamber up the half fallen staircase to perch in the upper room windows and watch the comings and goings of the ant like creatures in the trenches far below and in the distance. He had become immune to the sad sight of the contents of drawers tumbled this way and that, evidence of hurried packing and flight. Young men in search of a small souvenir had picked over these pathetic fragments like a well-gnawed chicken carcase. Jozef felt too guilty, too full of sorrow for the inhabitants forced to leave their homes. On one occasion he picked up the photograph of a charming old lady complete with cap and ribbons. He tucked it away in his pocket book to return at the end of the war should circumstances warrant. Given what he had seen on the road back from Denmark there was little chance that she would survive the war, but some child or other relative may one day find comfort in a rescued photograph. Better still he would enclose it with his next letter to his mother.
At dusk the silence seemed more menacing and haunting. The eerie stillness broken only by the rapid footsteps of half frozen men en route too or from the village of Popperpinge. As daylight faded countless frogs in ponds and ditches set up a melancholy croaking. The rise and fall of Verey lights caused the shadows of the buildings to rise and fall silently across the brightly illuminated ground and the occasional rifle shot gave evidence of the watchful life in an apparently deserted landscape. As they neared the paved streets of the village a stealthy sound from a deserted outbuilding made them pause. Felix placed a hand on the over eager Lieutenants arm and stilled his reach for a gun. With a frightened and plaintiff bellow an emaciated calf appeared from inside and scampered out of reach before the men could grab her unkempt coat. All at once they could smell roast meat. Saliva came unbidden to dry mouths.
'Come on. Leave it for some other poor bugger. At least we will eat today'
A tug on his brother officer's arm was enough to breaks the spell cast by the sight of fresh meat on the hoof.
Talbot house stood in slightly seedy splendour in a narrow winding street off the main square of the village. Next-door was what had once been a bakery, now shuttered and barred it appeared deserted and forlorn. The family long since relocated to the comparative safety of the countryside. Several doors further along was a bier-keller, it's presence advertised by a candle in a grubby window and an open door which emitted the laughter of lower ranks and occasionally a high-pitched girls squeal.
Inside Talbot House the welcome was a real as the faith of the pastor of St George's Church. Tubby by name, astute by nature, the pastor was not given to proselytising or preaching. Jozef found he liked the sensible approach to the shocked and distressed men and the opportunity for quiet. Occasionally there was a little more food available than usual and the tea was real, hot and well sugared. The rules were few but strictly enforced. This was an alternative place for R and R for soldiers who would rather not frequent the brothels and pubs of the neighbouring towns and villages.
Gratefully accepting a cup of tea Jozef settled into a badly sprung armchair with some paper and a pen intent on writing a letter to his mother. He half-listened in on a conversation between a couple of Irish lads. Jim Byrne he recognised as one of his men, the other had a harsher accent, almost Scots in tone and timbre.
'So the mammy wouldn't let yah come then '
'No'
'So how're ye here then, in this god -forsaken rat hole'
Jim wiped his nose on a handkerchief more hole than substance, slurped his tea and told a tale that his commanding officer had not heard before
' Me Mam 's a pacifist and can't be doin' with war. So I took the rent book and practiced like bejaysus until I got a fair copy of her signature. Off goes I to the recruiting officer in Belfast, stole the fare for the train didn't I. I lies like the devil himself.' Jim paused and drew himself upright like a real sergeant major.
'How old are you my boy , sez he, grand moustaches all silver-like shakin' as he spoke to me.17 sez me, 18 next week, sir. I tell ye boys, I held me breath. He looks me up and down and I swear to God a smile crosses them pigs eyes of his for he says sarcastic like 'aren't you a fine muscled fellow for almost 18. Well boy, we need every man that's willing. So you're in. Sign this chitty and over to the medics with you and sharp like.
I was that pleased I could have kissed him. The medics took a look down me trousers, checked me teeth like a horse at the Arklow Fair and that was it. I had a uniform and pack and a rifle and was on me way to Liverpool within the week.'
Jim took a swig of his tea and a heft bite of a jam sandwich.
'Go on then, how'd you square it with yer Mam? I bet she was right pissed with ye'
' Language, my boy' the quiet voice of the pastor cut across the conversation
'Yes father, I mean, no father, I'm sorry father'
A smile made it all right and the conversation resumed, albeit in a much quieter tone and Josef strained to hear what happened next, caught in the story as much as the enthralled enlisted men.
' I sent a note by me mate Charlie, he'd flat feet so didn't get passed. Any road, all he could speak was the Irish and that wasn't any good for an English army. Tried to tell him but he wan't having any of it. Accordin' to me sister me Mam was not best pleased with me . I'll have at least belting to face when I do get home.
' Balls, mate, she'll hug ye to death more likes'
A glance was exchanged that spoke volumes about boys and their mothers. Jozef settled in to hear more, all pretence of reading gone as the story unfolded. He lost little of the tale for although the English was heavily accented it was clear and the pace pitched just right for a fascinated audience.
'Well I heads for training camp, leaving me mate to take the blame for leadin' me astray. The sergeant was a right bastard to us lot'
'So what's new?
'Aren't they all mate' came the quiet grumbles comment of the foot soldier in awe of a top sergeant.
'I ended up in a stinking hold of a boat bound for India. A hot and strange land I tell yiz, an' not at all what I thought of when I joined up'
The lads voice took on a lower tone and his listeners unconsciously moved closer to hear what he said.
'It was the smells that got to me at firststrange foods cooking over braziers. and unwashed bodies and rotting limbs and poverty. you couldn't get away from it and underneath it all perfume from bright flowers the likes of which would never grow in our cold wet country, boysthen the women. bare waists they had and their saris clinging so close to themhuge eyes that would steal the soul from your body with a glance
'Ripe for anything were they, yah boyah' a sly voice full of envy for what might never be.
'That's the rub. they were no more harlots than our own sisters and scampered away from us if we so much as looked sideways after them.
Ah they were that lovely I fair lost my heart every time I left the barracks.
Of course the officers wives looked down their snooty noses at them and cast snide comments every chance they got.
'How did yeh end up in this piss-hole if Indiar was that nice then? Interrupted a cadaverous looking chap sucking on an unlit cigarette butt.
'Got found didn't I.! I'd only gone and caught the wrong ship at South Hampton. Bundled on board by a Sergeant in a hurry who didn't bother stopping to ask me name or me regiment. Shoved a large parcel at me and ordered me on board. I went lads. Did I need askin' twice! Not me. And before I knew it off we were to India. Trouble was they'd only gone and sent a telegraph to me mother telling her I'd been sunk in the English channel blown up with me ship and me friends.'
The men were quiet, made sombre by the implications of what their young companion had described. One turned and shifted in his chair seeking a physical comfort for an internal empty ache. Another abruptly left the group to return red eyed some moments later. The ghosts of lost comrades made their presence felt and overwhelmed the living with memories made rotten by the decay and stench of war.
Jim shrugged at the change in tone hesitant about continuing the story. He shifted in the badly sprung chair and realised that the handsome officer sitting silently in a corner of the dim room had overheard the entire tale. Embarrassed he looked away.
'Cuppa?' enquired his mate.
Jim closed a half gloved hand around the mug of scalding liquid. A companionable silence settled on the group. A game of cards began conducted in relative silence. Jim shook off the feeling that his tale had caught the interest of the foreign officer and hardly noticed when he left some time later.
Jozef found himself writing about the young Irish lads in his next letter home.
It made a change from his usual falsely hopeful scribbling which he knew would draw an exacerbated sigh from his erudite and astute Maman.This would mean a great deal more to her than descriptions of bloody battles and screaming shells. She was interested in the humanity of war and how adversity made men of mice.
Jim Byrne also wrote home to his mother but not until some weeks later when his commanding officer appeared like the very devil himself over the top of the dugout clutching several bundles to his mud-splattered chest. It had been a hard days shelling with little respite from the nerve wrecking noises and the stench of rotting bodies left lying in the wintry sun where they fell. There had been no hot food for two days and what little rations there were became hard enough to make the men's mouths bleed. For Jim the constant dampness and wet clothing was the worst. His feet had all but lost the skin on them and the medic had run out of foot-powder and antiseptic. What Jim needed was dry footwear and miracles of miracles his repeated mantra to God had been heard. Jim had attempted to salute and defend himself from the descent of an unknown man into his trench.
His mates called out in the darkness and someone lit a Lucifer briefly then extinguished it before being bellowed at by the sergeant. In the velvet blackness of the night lit occasionally by exploding shells the Lieutenant Colonel explained in excellent English that his mother had sent him an extra parcel of socks and shoes and bandages and clothing to share with his young Irish comrades. For once the men were silenced. It was unheard of for an officer to share his rations or goods with enlisted men.
Jozef cuffed Jim playfully about the ears and said it was a blow from his mother on behalf of Jim's, and to tell her so in his next letter home. The sensing the men's discomfort the officer left as swiftly as he had arrived.
Madame's parcel assumed an almost legendary status amongst the small band of Irish soldiers under her son's command. Little came from home for their families were poor and the boys were grateful for the extra clothes and rations she dispatched via her 'tall black haired boy'. But it wasn't so much what was sent to them but the way she sent it.
'Charity it ain't lads' said one young man grinning broadly ' it as if me own Mam was here with us, beg pardon, sir, for any offence'
'None taken' replied Jozef sipping his hot tea from a battered tin cup.
'Read us that bit again, Sir, the words for each of us.Aah that was grand'
Josef glanced around him. These were no more than children. Some fifteen or sixteen years old. No wonder they hung on the words of his mother and found comfort in the distant embrace of a stranger.
Josef brought the thin sheets covered in spider-light writing closer to the guttering flame and began to read aloud.
' Tell those boys I pray for them every day, two rosaries each at least. I pray that they may see an end to the carnage and that in that place of death and destruction they see in their friendship with their comrades God's hand stretched out to them in hope. I trust they are doing what I said and bathing their feet and drying them well as often as possible. Boys never want to wash as often as their mothers would wish and in place of their own dear Maman I feel duty bound to tell them to look after themselves as if they were my own dear sons. Tell Jim I got his thank you note. He has a fair hand and a good way with his letters and had obviously listened hard at school. I suspect he is a storyteller. Now what mischief has young Michael created this week? I so enjoyed hearing about the corporal and his frying pan against the enemy.
Tell him to keep his head down and mind the bullets. I would miss hearing his escapades. And dearest Callum, I know the fear of rats is troubling your mind as it does many others. Rats are bold creatures and quite unafraid of man as I have found in my own little house. However, they most certainly do not like cats. If you can find some cats droppings to place at the entrance to you dug out this may help keep them at bay. For heavens sake don't shoot at them. You might hit one of the others or blow your own toe off.'
'The rest is really for me about my family, my sister and my cousins. So. shall I tell her you will follow all her instructions?'
The lads looked at each other then back at their commanding officer.
'Thought not. I will tell her the usual lies about you so she can rest in her bed.'
Jozef left the dugout glad of the respite from the officer's mess offered by the uncomplicated openness of these young men. The night was still and calm, unnaturally so after the incessant noise of shells and gunfire. He was afraid of how fearless he felt during the height of battle. Fear he supposed was the dread of surprise and the unknown. He knew what lay ahead of them as day followed interminable day, death followed death. Perhaps not having a wife made it easier somehow to be fatalistic. His mother would say it was a legacy of his father's Jewish-ness, as was what she called his right to a complaints department with his God. His cousins laughed at him and said he had more right to call himself Jew than they had, for their devoted adherence to the rites and rituals. He wondered why his father had chosen the Catholic Church as his path to God over and above the faith of his ancestors. It was a question that would plague him until his death for his father had died shortly after his birth leaving him to be raised by his devoutly catholic mother and his Jewish cousins with whom she had a deep and abiding friendship.
The smoky air of the officer's quarters clogged his lungs after the relative freshness of the night air outside. He located his billet and pulling his great coat around him fell into an uneasy slumber.
Some hours later the screaming whistle of a shell broke through his dream-crazed sleep. Sitting bolt upright he clutched in vain at the walls of the shelter as they rocked and crumpled around him. A sliding heap of mud and stones threatened to bury him where he lay. The frantic shouts of fellow officers roused him from his stupor. He scrabbled blindly for his gas mask and tugged it over his filthy head. One hand reached automatically for his dispatch case and his weapon while the other protected his head from falling earth. Relying on instinct he stumbled toward the door colliding with a warm body half submerged beneath a pile of rubble. Feeling for a pulse he found none and pressed on, wondering which of his comrades had gone home for good that morning. Emerging into half-light of dawn, the sun rising bloody through barrage smoke, he paused and took stock of the devastation.
Where Headquarters had been lay a crater some 30 feet deep. Tattered remains of what had once been men littered the ground. Paper fluttered uselessly in the wind. Medics danced across the mud like ballet stars intent on covering the area between them and the wounded as quickly as humanly possible. The German lines were streaming a constant barrage of shells across no man's land toward the line of trenches. Outlined against the salmon pink dawn an officer rallied the men with an angry cry. JoZef saw hands shake as they fixed bayonets and loaded guns. One young man crossed himself, deep in prayer.
'Keep down, you fool' a voice shouted moments before the officers face exploded, sending a shower of red debris down on the anxious men huddled below. In slow motion he toppled forward, his pistol dangling from lifeless hands.
Josef felt rather than saw the ripple of panic spread through the men. Shaking off the last of the dirt from his shoulders and arms, he removed his gas mask and slung it across his shoulders. Keeping low he scurried towards the restless line of men.
'Byrne, Corporal Byrne'
'He's here sir'
'Good lad'. . Go back along the lines and take this to the nearest command post. Wait for a reply then return and remain with my batman'.
'Yes sir, thank you sir' Pride and fear mingled in equal measures in a voice barely broken into manhood.
Josef managed a small smile at a young mans delight at being entrusted with an urgent dispatch. This was one life he could save today. He wondered if Jim would be as thankful at the end of the day.
' Now, we go over the top. Those guns must be taken out. Weave from side to side, leap over any ground not roughened and spread out. A running target is harder to hit. Keep low and run. On my command. Keep lowCome on, men'
They moved off slowly through the muddy battlefield into the hell of rattling machine guns, sparks and howling splinters. Using the craters left by shells as cover Moorkens led the men towards the German gun emplacements.
In one shell hole two Scotties were sitting in a pool of blood, a young comrade held across their knees. The older man supported the boy's head, holding a cigarette to his lips. Meeting Jozef's enquiring look he shook his head.
Moving his men onwards Josef was conscious of the increasing whine of bullets as they sped past his head. A burn mark on his neck revealed how close one marksman had come to taking out an officer. Urging the men to keep low he turned briefly to check on the youngest lad. The whining shell warned of incoming fire and instinctively he launched himself to the left shoving the youngster out of the way. The shell exploded some distance from them sending shards of shrapnel spiralling through the bloody air. One
passed cleaning through the metal helmet on Jozef's head and sliced through skin and bone as if through the finest steak. Jozef screamed once and knew no more. Some time later, in the awed stillness as death crawled across the land, the wind tugged half-heartedly at loose pages clutched in a dead man's hand. As his body was loaded onto a backless cart his final words to his mother were quite blown away.