Alone In The Trenches (4 page)

“What’s a dug-out?” I asked. He looked at me, amazed I didn’t know.

“Well, I suppose you wouldn’t, would you? It’s what it sounds like. To make sure the lads aren’t open to all weathers up at the front, we dig out a few extra holes in the
ground and cover them over. It’s amazing what you can do with a length of old corrugated iron and a few lumps of wood. Your dug-out becomes a home away from home after a while. Somewhere to
do the crossword when Jerry’s not chucking stick-bombs or doing his best to knock your head off.”

It was a long hour or two before Charlie arrived. He hobbled into the yard, covered in mud from head to toe, carrying a pack that looked far too heavy for one man. A few of the soldiers turned
and gave him a cheer. He dropped the pack and sank down on a bench.

“Seems your Private Perkins is a bit of a hero,” remarked Corporal Warren, as he walked past. “Comes as something of a surprise to me, I must say. You’re obviously a good
influence on him, young lady.”

A little knot of men had gathered around Charlie. Like the nosey girl I am, I went over.

“Well, make room for my lucky charm,” said Charlie, beaming at me. “Am I glad to see you!”

“Tell us the gory details, Chas,” said one of the men. “How did it go?”

“Not much to say, lads…”

“Not what we heard,” said another.

“Well, since you ask,” Charlie said, between puffs on a cigarette he’d been handed. “It was black as the ace of spades out there. Couldn’t see your hand in front of
your face. We made it out into No Man’s Land all right, though it was a long old crawl. And then those new cutters of mine started making short work of the wire. Except I’ll tell you
the strangest thing. Once you start pushing the wire this way and that, with no stars to see I’m blowed if you don’t lose all sense what’s east or west.

“So you got lost?”

“We could have been anywhere. And it fair gives you the runs when you thinking you’re going to end up in one of Jerry’s trenches. Pardon me for my soldier’s language,
young Annette. Then all of a sudden, up goes a flare, and for a moment it’s like noon on a midsummer’s day. We hear Jerry shouting, and he lets off a few rounds in our direction. Only
it’s gone dark again so there’s precious little chance of them hitting us, or so you’d think. Then suddenly there’s a cry from the captain and he says to me under his
breath, ‘
I think I’ve stopped one in the leg, Perkins.
’ I crawl over to him, and best as I can feel he’s all right, though it’s a bit hard to tell what’s
blood and what’s muck. So I take a deep breath – at least I’ve got my bearings now I know where the fire’s come from, assuming it’s Jerry shooting and not us. I tie up
Captain Garvey’s leg and then I haul him all the way back and over the top into the fire trench. And I reckon that must have taken all of an hour too.”

“How’s Garvey now?”

“He’ll live. Might have been more of a graze than actually stopping one. They’ve put him on a cart down to the dressing station. They’ll fix him up again
there.”

“So it’s back to Blighty for him, and a medal for you?”

“I wouldn’t count on either, lads. But it don’t half make you feel glad to be alive and back at
Rosie
, I can tell you that. I put it down to our little guardian angel
here. I reckon she was the one who saved us.”

“Any news about the raid?”

“Well, ‘C’ company went and had a pop at Jerry first thing. But I don’t think it came to much, ’cos of course by now Jerry had got wind something was up. I think
the boys in ‘C’ threw a few bombs and came back again sharpish.”

When we were on our own later, Charlie said, “I meant that bit about you being my guardian angel. You get superstitious out here. You keep the same lucky charm in your trouser pocket. You
carry the same pages of scripture in your jacket. You start to think your life depends on it. We’ve been up against it these last few weeks, I can tell you. The generals wanted us to batter
Jerry good and hard before winter came on, so we were taking regular turns up at the front, and not catching a wink of sleep. We lost a lot of good men one way or another, killed or maimed. You
start thinking about your chances of ever making it to the end of the bloomin’ war. And if anything at all good happens you hold onto it tight. So maybe you really are my lucky charm, Miss
Annette. Only thing is, Corporal Warren says I must take you down to Transport, so they can decide where to send you.”

I’d only known Charlie twenty-four hours, but now the thought of moving on without him was scary. I knew it wasn’t very safe at
Rosie
– we were so very close to the
German lines – but I didn’t want to leave Charlie behind. He’d been so kind. He didn’t shout or scold. He was my new big brother.

“Can’t I stay here with you?” I asked plaintively.

“No, you can’t! And you know you can’t,” he replied. “I’ve got a job to do. And a very unpleasant one it is. Soldiers aren’t fit company for a little
lady like you, with all our rude talk and coarse language.”

“What’s happened to your foot?” I asked, changing the subject. Charlie was still hobbling.

“Oh, that!” Charlie laughed. “I don’t know who made my boots,” he said, “but whoever they were, I’d have ’em sacked. The left one started falling
apart up at the line, and by the time I’d pulled myself out of a hundred squelchy mud-holes and tripped over a dozen rotting tree-stumps, the sole came off completely. It was slowing me down,
so it had to go, and now I hope I can find myself a new one from somewhere. Meanwhile, I’ll have to make do with this.” And he pointed down at the khaki bandage he’d wound round
his foot, made from the tight stockings or “puttees” the soldiers wore on their lower legs for extra support. “But don’t you mind about that. Let’s go and find the
corporal and tell him we’re on our way.”

The corporal was busy and spoke only to Charlie, not to me. And considering Charlie was now a hero, he spoke rather roughly, I thought.

“It’s all very well, Private Perkins, you chasing after the likes of our Captain Garvey and his pet schemes, but I need your mind back on your job. You say the young lady has family
in Witney, so if no one’s got a better suggestion, you could tell Transport she should be sent there. At least she doesn’t come from Penzance or the wilds of Scotland. That might be
more difficult for the Oxfordshire regiment to arrange.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but Charlie motioned me to keep quiet. I hadn’t thought things through. I’d never met any of my Witney family – though Dad had often talked
about them. Even if they were willing to take me in, perhaps I’d be no happier than I’d been with Mum and Grandma. As we walked down a lane towards Transport, Charlie said, “Lots
of your people have made the journey to England, you know. You won’t be the first. From what I’ve heard half of Belgium’s there. A few months back, when we were coming up to
Ypres, we passed hundreds of them on the road, poor devils. All they had was what they were stood up in, or could throw on a cart.”

I think I must have been whimpering a little as he said this.

“Now then,” he said, stopping and turning me round to look at him. “That won’t do at all. Let’s put on our best face, so we make a good impression.”

*

Transport had taken over the offices of a timber yard in a large village a couple of miles from
Rosie
. Next to the yard was the railway station, with a number of sidings
containing wagons and carriages. The station buildings had been turned into a hospital. I was shocked to see a long line of men lying on stretchers next to the station door.

One of them was groaning loudly and thrashing around where he lay. A man with a Red Cross badge on his arm ran to him and knelt over him, trying to get him to drink, but the
injured soldier knocked his arm away, spilling the contents of the cup. Then I saw that most of his right leg had been blown off, leaving just a stump covered with dirty bloodied bandages. He
screamed at the orderly, “For God’s sake help me.
Help
me, man. I’m dying…”

“I’m trying,” the orderly said calmly. “The drink will make you feel better. But I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself…”

Charlie pulled at my hand, “Sometimes it’s best not to look,” he said. “Gets the imagination going too much.”

But I’d already seen the pain on the soldier’s face and wouldn’t forget it in a hurry. And I’d seen the other line of stretchers too, where just the shapes of men were
visible under blankets that covered their bodies from head to toe. I didn’t want to believe what I saw, but in my heart I knew they were dead.

A train had just arrived in the station and soldiers were milling around the wagons, looking for their packs and sharing a joke. Charlie asked where he could find the Chief Transport Officer. A
couple of chaps shrugged their shoulders, but a gangling lad who was doing his best to make the yard tidy with a broom pointed us in the direction of a tall, haughty-looking man with a hooked nose
and a wispy moustache.

“You can try Captain Leveson, I suppose. He doesn’t take any nonsense, but he knows his stuff.”

Captain Leveson was standing outside one of the doors of the offices watching the chaos. He was tapping his officer’s stick impatiently against one thigh and shaking his head. It
didn’t look a good moment to be asking a favour. “Private Perkins, sir, ‘B’ company, 2nd Battalion Oxfordshires. I’ve been sent to you to ask if you would take this
young lady, sir.”

“Take her?” Captain Leveson barked impatiently. “Take her where?”

“She’s lost her family, sir, who rightly speaking are Belgian people. But she has other family in Witney, Oxfordshire, and my corporal thought that you might be able to
help.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” the officer snapped. “How very kind of him! Has he any idea, I wonder, of the difficulties we’re working with here?” He spread his hands out
towards the crowded yard. “Has your corporal by any chance considered what would happen if I let one small Belgian girl waste His Majesty’s time and money by being evacuated hundreds of
miles to the middle of England? I suppose I should shortly be overwhelmed by thousands of children presenting excellent reasons why they should be given special treatment too. No, Private Perkins,
my compliments to your
corporal
, but please tell him he must return the young lady to the Belgian authorities for them to help her. Have I made myself clear? Now, if you’ll excuse
me…”