The Shadow of War (16 page)

Hamish takes his platoon over to the school, where he finds several dozen men lying on stretchers in the playground. In the middle of them, trying to cope, are two nurses and a sister from Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service. There are also several local French people offering help, bringing soup and water and even wine and brandy.

The nurses' once immaculately starched white aprons and pale grey dresses are covered in blood and more closely resemble the uniforms of slaughtermen than the garb of nurses.

‘Sister, can we help?'

A woman of no more than twenty-five turns sharply. Her hair has begun to fall from its tight bun and strands of it are matted to her face by perspiration.

‘Yes please, sir.'

‘My men will start taking the wounded into the school, so that you can start doing dressings.'

‘That's helpful, sir, but I'm afraid we don't have any bandages left.'

Hamish immediately calls over his NCO.

‘Serjeant, take six men, see if you can find some transport
and go around Bavay. Requisition all the sheets from any hotel or boarding house you can find. Don't brook any argument' – he pulls out a handful of pound notes and gives them to the serjeant – ‘and give them one of these for their trouble. Now, do you need anything else, Sister?'

‘A case of morphine, an operating table and a surgeon … sir.'

Hamish just smiles at the sister's sarcasm.

‘Don't you have anything for pain?'

‘I have a little morphine, but very little else. Perhaps some blankets would help – and any food your serjeant can find.'

‘What happened to your medical officer?'

‘He's gone up to see where the men are coming from, taking his ambulance, his orderlies and half my nurses –'

‘Well, we'll help you as much as we can.'

‘Thank you, sir. By the way, your general, Haig, came through earlier. He's got terrible diarrhoea.'

‘Has he, by Jove. That will teach him to eat oysters in the middle of a war!'

The sister smiles for the first time.

‘May I know your name, Sister?'

‘Of course, sir. Margaret Killingbeck.'

As always when Hamish sees a woman worth pursuing, he does not think twice, even amidst the carnage around him.

‘Interesting name.'

‘Yorkshire Dales, sir.'

‘Well, I'm Hamish Stewart-Murray. My batman has a couple of bottles of claret in his knapsack. Would you like to have a glass or two this evening?'

Not surprisingly, the sister looks disconcerted at the suggestion and glances at the sea of stretchers around her.

‘That's very kind, Major, but don't you think I might be a little busy this evening? Perhaps some other time.'

Hamish, suitably chastened that he has had to be reminded of the dire circumstances which surround them, smiles
meekly, then rolls up his sleeves and begins to help get the wounded inside the school. He talks to each one with genuine concern, especially a young Gordon Highlander whose dark green kilt is dripping with blood from an abdominal wound.

‘Where are the rest of your platoon?'

‘I dunno, sir. Our officer got shot by the canal, then we lost both our serjeants when we had to pull back. A lot of men went down around me. When I got hit, I fell into a ditch an' lay still until the Germans passed.'

‘How did you get here?'

‘Walked, sir.'

‘With a bullet in you?'

‘Aye, but it's gone right through, sir – just on me side, beneath me ribs – I dinna think it hit anythin' important.'

Hamish can't help smiling.

‘You've done well, soldier. What's your name?'

‘Hamish, sir, frae Aberdeen.'

‘That's a good name to have. Let's see if we can get you patched up.'

The lad's mood suddenly changes. He has lost a lot of blood and is exhausted. He starts to talk animatedly.

‘It went well at first, sir. It was like shootin' practice on the range. They came in massed ranks, like toy soldiers, shoulder to shoulder; we couldna miss. A squadron of their cavalry tried to come over the bridge, but they went down like nine-pins; horses and men fell into the canal. It was a terrible sight, sir.' The young man grabs Hamish's hand and starts to shake it violently. ‘But they kept comin', sir, thousands of 'em. We couldna hold 'em any longer.'

One of the nurses takes the young Highlander away; he is still talking excitedly.

All the men have similar stories. Thousands of German soldiers, their field-grey uniforms making clear targets in the green fields of summer, came through the trees in close
order, only a few hundred yards from the British line. Then they fell like fairground ducks, easy targets for the extremely accurate fire of the British infantryman. But the defenders were outnumbered by at least three or four to one in many areas, and the German superiority in numbers eventually made the difference.

Hamish is keen to find out what has become of the Black Watch and, specifically, his brother Geordie. To his relief, he hears that his brother's regiment is still in reserve and was not involved in the fighting at Mons.

By the evening of Monday 24 August, the 4th Battalion Royal Fusiliers have reached Inchy, a French village over fifty miles from Mons. They are exhausted and have suffered heavy casualties. Mons has cost them five officers and over 150 men. Six more officers and over 100 men are wounded.

Maurice and Harry are unscathed. They saw many Germans in their rifle sights and shot too many to count but, other than some artillery shells that landed close to them, they were never under threat. They are now waiting to be addressed by Major George Ashburner. When Ashburner appears among the fusiliers, they are resting on the platform of Inchy railway station and, despite their desperate weariness, they immediately spring to attention.

On Ashburner's nod, CSM Billy Carstairs orders the company to stand at ease. Both Ashburner and Carstairs are well turned out, their uniforms tidy, their faces shaved; but it is obvious they have been in the thick of it. Ashburner manages a broad smile.

‘Gentlemen, I am a proud man this evening. You have acquitted yourselves with great distinction today. Even though we are withdrawing, it is against overwhelming odds
and there is no shame in that. Our information is that C and D Companies faced two whole battalions of Germans on Sunday and we gave them a lesson in British marksmanship. So, a proud day for the Royal Fusiliers.'

Ashburner bows his head and looks at the list in his hand of known C Company casualties.

‘But it is not without significant cost, and we mourn the loss of many brave colleagues today. I will give Mr Carstairs the list, which he will post whenever he can find somewhere appropriate. Men, you are tired and need rest, but I have one particular story to tell you. It is a sad tale, but one of extraordinary heroism that illustrates who we are and what we do. It occurred at the Nimy railway bridge, where our young Irish Lieutenant Maurice Dease commanded our machine-gun section. The section came under extremely heavy fire and several men were killed or injured and had to be replaced. Their position was very cramped and Lieutenant Dease was wounded twice, but he continued to help his section keep firing.'

Ashburner looks down; the men close to him can see that their commanding officer has tears in his eyes.

‘Both our machine guns had, by now, jammed, but Private Sid Godley rushed forward, cleared one of the guns and resumed firing. While his comrades made their escape, Private Godley continued firing for almost two hours until he ran out of ammunition. Witnesses think that he was hit during this time.'

By now, there are many fusiliers, even the most battle-hardened, with lumps in their throats.

‘Even so, he began to dismantle his gun and throw its parts into the canal. As far as we know, Lieutenant Dease died during this action and we saw his body being removed by the Germans. As for Private Godley, he was also taken away, but all who witnessed it say he was alive at the time. Let us hope that they are merciful to him.'

Ashburner
nods at CSM Carstairs once more, who bellows at the men, ‘
Attention!
'

Ashburner takes a deep breath.

‘Let us bow our heads and remember our brother soldiers who have fallen at Mons.'

After a full minute of silence, a voice from the back of the company begins to sing the famous soldiers' song from the Boer War, which is soon taken up by the entire company, including all the officers.

I have come to say goodbye, Dolly Gray,

It's no use to ask me why, Dolly Gray,

There's a murmur in the air, you can hear it everywhere,

It's the time to do and dare, Dolly Gray.

So if you hear the sound of feet, Dolly Gray,

Sounding through the village street, Dolly Gray,

It's the tramp of soldiers true in their uniforms so blue,

I must say goodbye to you, Dolly Gray.

Goodbye, Dolly, I must leave you, though it breaks my heart to go,

Something tells me I am needed at the front to fight the foe,

See, the boys in blue are marching and I can no longer stay,

Hark, I hear the bugle calling, goodbye Dolly Gray …

Maurice and Harry sing as loudly as the rest. Boer War veterans themselves, it brings back fond memories, but also puts the events of the last few days into perspective.

‘This ain't South Africa, is it, Mo?'

‘No, it ain't. Bloody 'undreds of 'em and they kept comin', no matter how much of a pastin' we was givin' 'em.'

‘This war could get nasty.'

‘Not 'alf; it's already 'airy enough!'

‘I'm knackered and I reckon we'll be on the move agin soon. Ashburner will want more distance between us and the Hun than this.'

Harry
is right; after only four hours' sleep, they are on the move again. The weather is not kind. After days of stiflingly hot August weather, the heavens open and the temperature drops dramatically.

‘Bloody 'ell! I'm fuckin' freezin', 'Arry.'

‘Too right, mate, it's brass monkeys. Where do yer reckon we're off to?'

‘I 'aven't a clue! But we'll know when we get there.'

They march until three thirty, and the first hint of dawn, on Tuesday 25 August. Maurice can see the French road sign in the early light. It reads ‘
Le Cateau
'.

‘Let's 'ope it's got a boozer.'

‘A bath would do me. I'm beginning to feel lousey.'

‘You're not kiddin', you whiff like a fuckin' badger.'

By the late evening of Monday 24 August Hamish Stewart-Murray has managed to get all the fit and able British troops out of Bavay. Of the wounded, most have been evacuated, leaving only those too badly injured to be moved. There are just three requisitioned transport buses waiting to make the final withdrawal. But the lead troops of the German advance are thought to be making camp only two miles down the road.

Sister Killingbeck and her two Queen Alexandra's nurses are still treating the casualties. She wants to stay with them until the Germans arrive; Hamish is insisting that she leave on one of the final transports.

‘You must come with us, Margaret; we need you on our side of the line. There will be lots more men to treat before this is over.'

‘But what about these men? They are my responsibility.'

‘The Germans have got excellent medical facilities, they
will be well taken care of. I want you on the final transport. If you want me to make it an order, I will.'

‘Very well, Hamish, if you insist. But first I need your help with something. I've been looking after a badly injured Welch Fusilier captain; he is still conscious, but not very coherent. When he's cogent, he asks for a senior officer.'

‘How's he doing?'

‘It's astonishing he's still alive; he's a very strong man, but he won't survive the night. He's got two bullets in his chest and one in the right leg. He's bleeding internally.'

‘Is there nothing you can do?'

‘He needs surgery, but we can't move him.'

‘Should I see him?'

‘It would be kind.'

‘What's his name?'

‘Captain Philip Davies. He was taking a message from his battalion, took a wrong turn and rode straight into a German patrol. He survived for five hours in a ditch, then dragged himself two hundred yards to a crossroads, where he was found by the Middlesex boys.'

‘Is he in pain?'

‘Yes, rather a lot. I've no more morphine to give him.'

Hamish does not relish his task. There has been no sign of a chaplain since he arrived in Bavay and he fears the dying man wants to make a confession, or at least be comforted in his death throes.

The captain has been put in a small office in the school, where he can die in peace. The room is dark, but as Hamish enters he can hear the death rattle in the man's breathing very distinctly.

‘Captain Davies, Hamish Stewart-Murray.'

The stricken man stirs slightly and blinks rapidly, as if trying to clear his head.

‘Good evening … I can't see your pips?'

‘Major.'

‘Good
evening, sir. Do you mind coming closer? I can't really turn my head to see you.'

‘Of course.'

‘Where are you from, sir?'

‘Please call me Hamish. I'm from Blair Atholl, Perthshire.'

‘Stewart-Murray, Blair Atholl … then your father must be the Duke of Atholl?'

‘He is, indeed. Do you know him?'

‘Yes, slightly, I sold him a few things last year; I'm an auctioneer and dealer in Civvy Street –'

Philip suddenly winces with pain and begins to cough blood. Hamish desperately summons help.

‘
Sister!
'

Sister Killingbeck rushes into the room. She knows what to do instantly.