The Death of Hope Andrew Wareham (book club reads TXT) 📖

had left one man with a cut arm from flyingdebris. The dugouts were effective protection, provided the men were inside them.

“Hawkeswill! We need a pump for Harris’ company,quick time. Smashed by a shell. What’s the word from other companies?”

“Major Vokes is putting the list together,sir. All minor. E Company lost most of their duckboards. Looks as if they hadbeen repaired previously and the whole lot fell to bits, sir.”

“Put in the requisition. Urgent – they can’tbe left to wade in the mud and crap under the walkways.”

“Yes, sir. Brigade calling, sir.”

Richard took the telephone.

“Just a Hate, sir. Retaliation for theraids, I suspect. I cancelled stand-to this morning in case. We took almost nocasualties as a result. Need a water-pump and two hundred yards of duckboards,sir. That’s at six feet wide. Six hundred boards, sir.”

Braithwaite might not have been capable ofcalculating to such complexity.

“Lost some of the ready ammunition stores,sir. We could use three-o-three rounds and flares, sir. A replacement supply ofMills Bombs as well.”

It would be difficult to prove Richard aliar. A worthwhile risk to take as their stores were lower than he liked. Halfa million rounds would be very welcome; a few Mills Bombs would be a pleasantextra.

Braithwaite confirmed that Draper had beenput aboard his train and would be in company all the way to Marseille and ontothe ship there. There would be no mistaken turns, no getting lost for thatgentleman.

“Strange, sir. He was peacetime Army. Whydoes a man join up if he is yellow?”

“Pleasant life except in time of war, Baker.He was Sandhurst in ’02 or ’03 and then joined the battalion in barracks at Winchesterand eleven or twelve years of drill and parades. Infantry, so he would not evenbe expected to go out hunting in winter. Three out of four weekends in London,in the clubs and theatres and bars and other places – back midday Monday, offFriday morning. A quiet, comfortable life for a single man with an income ofhis own, the Army a social club as much as anything. Always possible to duckout of an overseas posting – a staff course would do for that. No reason tosuppose that his life would ever see danger, then the Kaiser chose to start abloody war! Even then, he almost managed to dodge the column.”

It was peculiar, Richard thought, went along way to explaining the attitude of the older officers, the faint air ofresentment with which they greeted action at the front. It was not what theyhad signed up for, though the overwhelming majority responded well to thedemands of war.

“Got three wagon loads of blankets for yourbattalion, just turned up. My people know nothing about them…”

“Cold in the dugouts, sir. Can’t have cokefires in enclosed spaces without killing off the men.”

“I won’t ask how, Baker. They will be ontheir way up to you within a few minutes.”

The wagons arrived, were rapidly unloadedand counted.

“Two apiece, ‘Major.”

“Yes, sir. Done well by us, so he has,sir. You will note the quality?”

There was no broad arrow on the blankets.They were not War Department issue.

“Thick. Warm and heavy. Meant for a hotel,not for the army?”

“Yes, sir. The woollen mills must still besending stuff overseas to meet pre-war contracts. They need to earn money, afterall. Always the case that English woollens are the best you can buy, sir.”

“Get them issued, quick time, ‘Major. Thesooner they are out of sight, the better.”

Carrying parties came from each company,ran back yelling to their mates.

“A few spare, sir?”

“Aid post?”

“Already assigned, sir.”

“Then spread them around the officers, ‘Major.The youngsters especially, those who can’t afford to buy their own comforts.”

O’Grady nodded and set about the task.

“What of yourself, sir?”

“Speak to Paisley. He should have me lookedafter from my own pocket. Not for me to be dipping my hands in the men’s issue,‘Major.”

The words were heard and passed on. TheColonel had not taken a one of the blankets, all had gone to the battalion. Itall added to their fighting spirit, their willingness to stand for the Regiment.They were special – their officers were better than the poor sods had in otherbattalions along the line.

The mail arrived, in good time for once,letters for the bulk of the men, very few of them completely alone. Richard satdown to a long missive from Primrose, the entirety adding up to very little –she missed him, hoped he was well, knew that was silly. She had met aLieutenant Commander Adams recently, believed him to be the man he and his friendSturton had mentioned as having ‘put up a black’; he was evidentlyrehabilitated. They had danced and he had mentioned that he would leave theNavy when the war ended; definitely no longer the golden boy. That apart, hisfather had written her to say that he had purchased a house not so far fromWells-Next-The-Sea with some gardens and a little boathouse of its own; shehoped they would like it.

It was all very domestic and unimportant –a pleasant change from the lines. He waited for the first officer to comeknocking at the dugout door. Letters from home were not all enjoyable.

“Come in Caton. What is it?”

“Smith Three, sir. His wife run off with amillhand, earning five times as much as a soldier. Left their two children,four and six year olds, with his mother and her at her wits end to deal withthem.”

“What can he do if he goes home for aweek, Caton?”

“He doesn’t know, sir. He can’t do anythingwhile he is here. Find his wife and speak to her, I suppose – she can’t havegone far.”

“And likely end up before the beak for bashingher, Caton. No. He stays, I am afraid. Besides, she was obviously just waitingfor him to go overseas; she has hardly had time to meet a new lover in the fewdays we have been out.”

The cases trickled in through the morning.Richard sent one man home for seven days, his father on his deathbed, a chanceto see him a last time. The remainder stayed with their miseries.

“The hard part of soldiering, Hawkeswill.Most of the men have only been out for three weeks. Six months at least beforethey can