Will had learned when he came over to France. His ‘Special Preparation Against Vermin In The Trenches’, from Boots the Chemist, had been useless. Destroying lice was far more complicated than simply rubbing ointment into your uniform. Along with his rifle and ammunition and iron rations, they’d been issued with a candle. One of the lads had joked, ‘What’s this for? Romantic dinners?’ He’d been put on a charge for that. They soon found out. The only thing that got rid of lice was fire. You lit the candle and then ran the flame over the seams, the places where the lice gathered in their hundreds. There was quite a skill to it, killing the lice without setting your shirt alight, or singeing it so badly the material ripped when you put it on. You knew you’d killed them because they exploded with a little pop. When the men were all sitting together, doing their delousing, it was almost like a miniature machine gun going off.
As they formed up for the forest patrol, Will looked around at the other volunteers. There was Ogden and Binney, who had both come out with him in the spring. Before they had boarded the train down to the Harwich ferry, they had all been issued with live ammunition, and Ogden had actually leaned out of the window and taken potshots at farm animals with his Lee-Enfield rifle. Will had seen a scraggy old sheep topple over and had gone and remonstrated with him. It took a whole month before Ogden forgave him. Will was pleased to see Weale and Moorhouse and another veteran of 1914, Hosking, were coming. The three of them thought themselves invincible, and no wonder. Will knew boys, and a few officers, who had died in their first hour at the Front. Cowell and Bradshaw, two other old hands, who had been at the Front for a couple of years, were with them too.
‘Hosking, take point, watch out for mines, any booby traps, but most of all, we’re looking for snipers. If they’ve got machine guns on the edge of the forest, we’ll find out soon enough, so don’t bunch up.’
Sergeant Franklin had his stern voice on.
‘No talking, no smoking, you know the drill. You want to tell me something, you come and tap me on the shoulder. All right? And whisper.’
Will looked at the men they were leaving behind and felt himself lucky. He was sure Jim was right. The forest patrol was definitely a safer bet than the attack on the village. They set off and within ten minutes the dense green trees loomed up before them.
Shortly after they left, the soldiers preparing for the assault were surprised to see a young runner from Divisional Command arrive breathlessly among them. He seemed to be bursting with a wonderful secret, grinning from ear to ear. He could barely contain himself when he asked for Lieutenant Richardson. He handed over an envelope, which the young officer immediately ripped open. The anxiety on his face vanished in an instant. He too seemed strangely excited, and called for the men to assemble immediately. He even rushed around their position himself, to ensure every man under his command would be present to hear him.
Eventually, when he had gathered them all together, he announced, ‘Men, I have some momentous news. The attack on Saint-Libert has been called off.’ A murmur of relief went around the platoon. ‘In fact, I have been informed that hostilities will cease at eleven o’clock this morning.’
Lieutenant Richardson’s men looked at him with dull acceptance. There was no cheer, no celebration, no throwing caps into the air. He felt a flash of exasperation. ‘Gentlemen, don’t you understand? The war is over.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said Corporal Entwistle, who took on Jim’s role when he was elsewhere. The men remained impassive. It was as if Richardson had just announced that breakfast was being served half an hour later.
‘Sir, what about Sergeant Franklin’s patrol,’ said Entwistle.
‘Send a man to fetch them back, Corporal. Tell him to get a move on.’
Half
As they formed up for the forest patrol, Will looked around at the other volunteers. There was Ogden and Binney, who had both come out with him in the spring. Before they had boarded the train down to the Harwich ferry, they had all been issued with live ammunition, and Ogden had actually leaned out of the window and taken potshots at farm animals with his Lee-Enfield rifle. Will had seen a scraggy old sheep topple over and had gone and remonstrated with him. It took a whole month before Ogden forgave him. Will was pleased to see Weale and Moorhouse and another veteran of 1914, Hosking, were coming. The three of them thought themselves invincible, and no wonder. Will knew boys, and a few officers, who had died in their first hour at the Front. Cowell and Bradshaw, two other old hands, who had been at the Front for a couple of years, were with them too.
‘Hosking, take point, watch out for mines, any booby traps, but most of all, we’re looking for snipers. If they’ve got machine guns on the edge of the forest, we’ll find out soon enough, so don’t bunch up.’
Sergeant Franklin had his stern voice on.
‘No talking, no smoking, you know the drill. You want to tell me something, you come and tap me on the shoulder. All right? And whisper.’
Will looked at the men they were leaving behind and felt himself lucky. He was sure Jim was right. The forest patrol was definitely a safer bet than the attack on the village. They set off and within ten minutes the dense green trees loomed up before them.
Shortly after they left, the soldiers preparing for the assault were surprised to see a young runner from Divisional Command arrive breathlessly among them. He seemed to be bursting with a wonderful secret, grinning from ear to ear. He could barely contain himself when he asked for Lieutenant Richardson. He handed over an envelope, which the young officer immediately ripped open. The anxiety on his face vanished in an instant. He too seemed strangely excited, and called for the men to assemble immediately. He even rushed around their position himself, to ensure every man under his command would be present to hear him.
Eventually, when he had gathered them all together, he announced, ‘Men, I have some momentous news. The attack on Saint-Libert has been called off.’ A murmur of relief went around the platoon. ‘In fact, I have been informed that hostilities will cease at eleven o’clock this morning.’
Lieutenant Richardson’s men looked at him with dull acceptance. There was no cheer, no celebration, no throwing caps into the air. He felt a flash of exasperation. ‘Gentlemen, don’t you understand? The war is over.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said Corporal Entwistle, who took on Jim’s role when he was elsewhere. The men remained impassive. It was as if Richardson had just announced that breakfast was being served half an hour later.
‘Sir, what about Sergeant Franklin’s patrol,’ said Entwistle.
‘Send a man to fetch them back, Corporal. Tell him to get a move on.’
Half
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