Read Online 1916 Angels over the Somme (British Ace Book 3) by Griff Hosker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Griff Hosker
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sir.”
“Then do something about it!” There was real passion in his voice.” You never know what is around the corner. Life is too damned short! I hate it when you young lads go out each day and I have no idea how many will be coming back. I get more grey hairs every day. You know that Green and his gunner are prisoners of war?”
“No sir, I didn’t, but I suppose that is better than lying dead in some foreign field.”
“Hmn, I suppose you are right. At least they will survive the war.”
He was silent as he stared out of the window. It was sad to see an old warhorse like the colonel so depressed. His words had, however, made me wonder about my life. What would I do when… if, this war ever ended? Would I be like the colonel and keep the uniform? Would I drag Beatrice all over the world? I needed to think about life after the war.
A huge military policeman came over. “This is as far as you go sir. Who are you looking for?”
“The 17 th Liverpool Battalion.”
He pointed to the north. “They have just been brought off the line. You’ll find them in the reserve trenches up there.” He leaned in to Hutton and pointed, “Driver, put the car on that patch of land over there. We need to keep the road free for ambulances.” He nodded as one drove away from the front. “The Aussies are getting it today.”
As Hutton parked the car he walked over with us. The colonel asked, “Where did you say, Sergeant?”
He pointed, “Go down Buckingham Palace Road until you come to Lime Street and ask there.” He smiled, “And wear your tin lids too, sirs. The Huns like to lob the odd shell or two over. They are proper sneaky buggers.”
We saw the crudely made sign which even had a crown drawn on it and we entered the trench. At this stage of the year it was relatively dry but later they would have duck boards down and the bottoms would become a muddy morass of slippery slime. It was wide enough for two lines of men to pass each other. We saw firing steps but there were no sentries. This had been the front line before the advance and was a measure of the gains that we had made. We met men coming the other way and I couldn’t help noticing how dirty they all looked. It made me more aware of our smart, clean uniforms. We received a cursory salute but the look was one of disdain. They thought we were staff. They didn’t know that we were warriors just like them.
Hutton said, “Here we are sir, Lime Street.” He gave me a quizzical look.
“It is a street in Liverpool. It is the name of the railway station.” Enlightenment dawned and he nodded.
We walked down and noticed what looked like caves carved out of the soil along the sides. There was a ragged piece of canvas for a door on each one and we could hear men within. It did not seem prudent to invade their privacy and so we walked on until we saw two soldiers having a cigarette and lounging against the trench wall. They stood to attention.
“Any idea where the 17 th are, we are looking for Colonel McCartney?”
One of them took his cigarette out of his mouth and pointed to a trench thirty yards away. His voice marked him as a Liverpudlian as soon as he began to speak, “He’s down there sir.” He suddenly seemed to see the uniform. He pointed to our flying boots. “Are you the lads who flew those funny looking aeroplanes the other day?”
The colonel nodded, “These two were.”
He stuck his head inside the canvas door. “Hey lads it’s some of them fly boys we saw the other day!”
Eight men poured out of the hole. They all saluted and stared at the caps. The corporal said, “Can we thank you lads? We were up the creek without a paddle and no mistake.”
“You’re welcome. It was the least we could do.”
“Are you from near Liverpool sir?”
“Burscough, how can you tell?”
“It sounds like home.” He pointed to the medals on my uniform. “And, lads, this is a real hero. Look he has
“Then do something about it!” There was real passion in his voice.” You never know what is around the corner. Life is too damned short! I hate it when you young lads go out each day and I have no idea how many will be coming back. I get more grey hairs every day. You know that Green and his gunner are prisoners of war?”
“No sir, I didn’t, but I suppose that is better than lying dead in some foreign field.”
“Hmn, I suppose you are right. At least they will survive the war.”
He was silent as he stared out of the window. It was sad to see an old warhorse like the colonel so depressed. His words had, however, made me wonder about my life. What would I do when… if, this war ever ended? Would I be like the colonel and keep the uniform? Would I drag Beatrice all over the world? I needed to think about life after the war.
A huge military policeman came over. “This is as far as you go sir. Who are you looking for?”
“The 17 th Liverpool Battalion.”
He pointed to the north. “They have just been brought off the line. You’ll find them in the reserve trenches up there.” He leaned in to Hutton and pointed, “Driver, put the car on that patch of land over there. We need to keep the road free for ambulances.” He nodded as one drove away from the front. “The Aussies are getting it today.”
As Hutton parked the car he walked over with us. The colonel asked, “Where did you say, Sergeant?”
He pointed, “Go down Buckingham Palace Road until you come to Lime Street and ask there.” He smiled, “And wear your tin lids too, sirs. The Huns like to lob the odd shell or two over. They are proper sneaky buggers.”
We saw the crudely made sign which even had a crown drawn on it and we entered the trench. At this stage of the year it was relatively dry but later they would have duck boards down and the bottoms would become a muddy morass of slippery slime. It was wide enough for two lines of men to pass each other. We saw firing steps but there were no sentries. This had been the front line before the advance and was a measure of the gains that we had made. We met men coming the other way and I couldn’t help noticing how dirty they all looked. It made me more aware of our smart, clean uniforms. We received a cursory salute but the look was one of disdain. They thought we were staff. They didn’t know that we were warriors just like them.
Hutton said, “Here we are sir, Lime Street.” He gave me a quizzical look.
“It is a street in Liverpool. It is the name of the railway station.” Enlightenment dawned and he nodded.
We walked down and noticed what looked like caves carved out of the soil along the sides. There was a ragged piece of canvas for a door on each one and we could hear men within. It did not seem prudent to invade their privacy and so we walked on until we saw two soldiers having a cigarette and lounging against the trench wall. They stood to attention.
“Any idea where the 17 th are, we are looking for Colonel McCartney?”
One of them took his cigarette out of his mouth and pointed to a trench thirty yards away. His voice marked him as a Liverpudlian as soon as he began to speak, “He’s down there sir.” He suddenly seemed to see the uniform. He pointed to our flying boots. “Are you the lads who flew those funny looking aeroplanes the other day?”
The colonel nodded, “These two were.”
He stuck his head inside the canvas door. “Hey lads it’s some of them fly boys we saw the other day!”
Eight men poured out of the hole. They all saluted and stared at the caps. The corporal said, “Can we thank you lads? We were up the creek without a paddle and no mistake.”
“You’re welcome. It was the least we could do.”
“Are you from near Liverpool sir?”
“Burscough, how can you tell?”
“It sounds like home.” He pointed to the medals on my uniform. “And, lads, this is a real hero. Look he has
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