A Song in the Night (23 page)

“Look at that.” Sam pointed as they approached a group of ruined farm buildings just up ahead. “Poor beggars won’t be coming back to much here.” The buildings had been badly shelled. Large chunks of masonry had fallen into the road, and the roofless structures which remained bore the familiar pockmarks of repeated shrapnel hits. No doubt the farm’s civilian occupants had fled months ago, probably right at the start of the conflict. Where were they now, Sam wondered sadly? And could they possibly imagine the state of their beloved family home?

Suddenly something caught his eye. A gap in the front wall of the ruined structure afforded an eyelet of view into the interior of the main farmhouse. It appeared as though one of the downstairs window frames had concertinaed in on itself leaving a tall, narrow opening, rather like a lancet window in a church. It was through this gap that Sam perceived movement. He signalled behind him to the others to stop. His heartbeat quickened. It could be Tommies of course. Possibly officers who’d set up quarters in there. They were pretty adept at that kind of thing. Bringing in chairs and gramophones and the like, and transforming forsaken hovels into relative palaces. He waited a few moments. The rest of the group had come to a halt some yards down the road. None of them made a sound now, and the sudden silence felt decidedly eerie. Sam had the distinct feeling they were being watched. It couldn’t be Tommies. They’d have come out by now and declared themselves; unless they were deserters …

Another slight flicker of movement. Sam tried to think fast. He couldn’t help feeling that if there were armed Germans in there, they definitely had the advantage. As his eyes scanned the building, he located several more gaps in the walls. No shortage of lookout positions or sniping posts for anyone hiding inside. They could let rip at any moment. Sam felt a shudder of fear go right through him. He and Wilf were the most obvious targets. It was like standing in a shooting gallery.

However, as the moments passed without any action, Sam felt emboldened to investigate further. Surely if it was anyone who meant trouble they’d have kicked off by now. He beckoned to Wilf, and the two of them made their way towards the far end of the farmhouse to see if it would give them a better view of the building’s interior. It did. Most of the gable end had collapsed, and all that remained of it was the bottom three feet of its outer wall and a pile of smashed stonework. But the state of the edifice was not the thing that held their interest now. Inside, pressed up against the back wall of the house, Sam could see two figures. He recognised the uniforms. Germans.

“They don’t look armed to me,” he said to Wilf in a low voice. “You cover me. I’m going to have a look.” He readied his rifle and moved nearer. At times like this it would be good to know a bit more of the lingo.

“Soldat! Soldat!”
he shouted to the two men. Not terribly impressive, but at least he’d got their attention – and he would shoot if he had to. Even from his position outside, Sam could see that the two Germans were very different in appearance. One was an older man, grizzled and thickset. The other was little more than a boy, slim and almost delicate by comparison to his fellow. He blanched as Sam called out to them. Sam signalled to them to come out, raising his hands above his head in a gesture of surrender to indicate what he wanted them to do. The two Germans began to pick their way out of the ruins as quickly as they could, though Sam could see that it was no easy task for them to keep their hands up whilst stumbling over the shattered stonework.

“Kamerad
–
Kamerad! No shoot …”
the young boy appealed pathetically as his feet slipped and slid over the wet masonry.

Sam couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He and Wilf exchanged glances. “Don’t worry, mate,” he called out. “No shoot if you behave yourself.”

Soon the two Germans had come out onto the open road. They stood, hands above their heads, blinking the drizzle out of their eyes as Sam and Wilf covered them with their guns.

“Nice one, Sam,” said Twinny Two, striding towards him with a grin. “You bagged a couple o’ Bosch. Our boys are checkin’ out the rest of the buildings.”

A few minutes later there came a shout. “All clear down here. Nothing doing.”

The rest of the group began to make their way towards them. Well, thought Sam, it had all made for a bit of excitement. Livened up the morning at least.

He hardly knew what happened then. One moment he was calmly standing guard over his prisoners, and the next, the older German was lunging at him wildly.

“What the …?”
Sam was almost knocked over by the sudden burst. The younger boy seemed to panic and flung himself to the older man’s side, yanking Sam’s arm as he did so. A couple of rifle cracks rang out through the chilly morning air. The older man was the first to hit the ground. The bullet had gone in at the temple, killing him outright. Seconds later, his comrade staggered backwards and fell heavily, hitting his head as he landed.

Sam recovered himself quickly and bent down over the young German. The boy lay looking up at him, his lips moving slightly as though he was trying to speak. Sam bent nearer. He could feel the boy’s breath on his skin.

“Wasser
–
bitte
–” The words were barely audible.

Sam slid his arm under the boy’s neck and lifted his head into a more comfortable position. It was obvious he was going. “Water, Wilf, find some water!” There was an urgency in Sam’s voice. But Wilf was frozen to the spot, a strange look of horror on his face. Sam glanced around desperately. The others had practically reached them by now and Sam could see Jimmy still holding his Lee Enfield in firing position.

Jimmy approached the scene and shook his head. “I was sure the old fella was about to try and kill you, Sam. It was just instinct. I couldn’t take any chances.” He looked down at the young German, an expression of pity in his eyes. “I’d have gone for the boy’s head but I’d have probably hit you.” He knelt down and took the boy’s hand.
“Es tut mir leid, Kamerad.”
His accent was broken and faltering but the lad seemed to pick up on the sincerity of his apology. He fixed his gaze on Jimmy and lay staring up at him. The others in the group maintained a respectful distance as the boy’s life dimmed to a close. A few moments later, his eyes swivelled, rolled back in their sockets and he was gone …

Poor lad, Emily. I think he just happened to be with the wrong person at the wrong time. We could have taken him prisoner if the other fellow hadn’t lunged at us. Jimmy just made a snap decision to save Wilf and me, but I know it’s upset him. It’s far easier to talk about pasting the enemy when you can’t see the whites of their eyes or hear them spluttering their last breath.

St Riquier October 15th 1916

Wilf shot himself today. I saw it coming, Em. That lad was past himself – he wasn’t fit to be out here. Nobody’s talking about it much; it’s almost like everyone’s trying to pretend nothing’s happened. I overheard one of the officers referring to him as a ‘bloody coward’. But he wasn’t a coward, Em. His nerves were wrecked. Losing his mate knocked him badly and I just don’t think he could cope with the loss. I saw it when Jimmy shot the German boy. Wilf just stood there with a look of terror in his eyes, almost as though he was reliving it all. It’s a rotten tragedy. Neither Wilf nor his mate were old enough to join up. They both lied about their ages just to get out here. Thought it would be an adventure I suppose. But once you’re here, you’re under orders, no matter how old you are. You can’t run away if things get a bit hot. They’d just shoot you. You have absolutely no say in anything. A man feels terribly expendable out here, Emily.

It’s knocked Jimmy, that’s for sure. I sense that in some way he feels partly responsible for Wilf’s death. He thinks that his shooting the German boy was the last straw, the thing that pushed Wilf over the edge. Personally, Em, I think it’s in danger of pushing Jimmy over the edge too. He doesn’t say much, but I know he’s struggling to forget the business. He told me that the boy’s face haunts him. I tried to buck him up. I said we could all feel bad about some of the things we’ve had to do out here, but that’s war – that’s what we’re here for. It didn’t help. When you see the enemy close up, you realise they’re not the villains they’re made out to be. Not all of them anyway. That young lad certainly wasn’t. He was just a frightened boy like Wilf, and now they’re both dead.

____________

Rosie chewed on her lip. Why was she even reading this stuff? At a time like this she must be crazy. Could she possibly have managed to find anything more depressing?

Yet deep down, she knew why she’d done it. Nearly three hours of Mel’s overbearing attention had left her feeling empty and almost self-indulgent. She’d come to her room just to escape. Poor Beth was the one with cancer, yet Rosie felt like all the sympathy had been lavished on
her
. Even Gavin had been impossibly kind. He’d promised, in tender, loving tones, to take extra special care of her. He was going to make sure she had the most memorable Christmas ever.
Christmas?
She’d hardly given it a thought. And yet Gavin seemed to view their forthcoming Christmas holiday as the panacea for all ills, the remedy for all misery – even the imminent death of her best friend.

That was why she’d read the diary today. As some kind of distorted reality check. In a weird way, typing up the entries had managed to assuage some of the guilt that was trying to fix itself onto her. Away from all the distraction tactics and emotional analgesia, the diary had plunged her straight back into raw, real life – where horrible things do happen, and no number of cream buns or fancy holidays can soften the blow. Closing Sam’s notebook, Rosie stared out of the window and thought fleetingly of all the young guys who’d had the dubious distinction of being around in 1914. There’d been nothing to soften it for them as their one shot at living had been ripped from their hopeful hearts. Forced into a situation like something out of hell itself and completely unable to escape from it. Run away, and they stuck you up against a post and shot you. Stay, and you were more than likely to get your brains blown out. Take your pick.

She leaned back in her chair. It wasn’t surprising Wilf had shot himself. How could a person keep going when there was no hope? In her mind’s eye she tried to picture him. But she saw only Beth.

She closed down her laptop. This stuff was enough to put years on you. Looking at her watch she saw that it was five twenty-five. She needed to get ready. She was going to visit Beth, but everything inside seemed to scream at her to stay at home. What did you say to someone who was dying?
How are you doing? Are you feeling better?
It was all so pointless. Rosie was suddenly overwhelmed with fear. Her legs felt like lead. She simply didn’t want to go.

____________

Almost a week had gone by since Beth had received her prognosis. Now it was late Monday afternoon and she and Ciaran were sitting in the hospital chapel. Beth had suggested it. They had wanted to be alone together, and during visiting hours she felt it was the one place they were unlikely to be disturbed.

Ciaran stared at a spot on the wall. He had cried so much, the skin of his face was taut and sore. And yet his eyes were filling again. He turned to look at Beth. She seemed so shrunken, and in such a short time. How could he let her go? The idea of life without her was unthinkable. Yet how could he stop her? She was fading away before his very eyes. His mind replayed the moment she’d broken the news to him. In one tiny second of tragic revelation, his life had imploded. It didn’t seem real.

Beth smiled at him gently. “I love you.”

The tears spilled over then. Reaching for her hand, he held it against his cheek.

“I’m sorry. So sorry to hurt you like this.” Beth’s voice was choked. “I don’t want to leave you. If I could change anything – if there was anything I could do to stay …”

Ciaran shook his head and put a finger to her lips. “Shush. Don’t. It’s not your fault, princess. It’s no one’s fault.” They held each other and cried. Ciaran buried his face in her hair. It smelt of hospitals. The odour of medication seemed to ooze from every pore of her being. This place got inside you.

After some time, Beth twined her fingers through his. “Ciaran, there’s something I want to ask you.”

Ciaran straightened. “What is it?”

Beth was hesitant. “I’d really like to spend Christmas at Oak Lodge. The three of us could go up there – you, me and Rosie. I’m sure Mum and Dad wouldn’t mind.” In that moment there was such an earnest pleading in her face, it gave her the look of one very young; a schoolgirl begging a favour from a reluctant parent. Her eyes searched his for a response. “I’d so love to. I really would.”

Ciaran looked away, afraid of being drawn in to the notion. The thought filled him with dread. He’d got her for precious little enough time as it was; he hardly wanted to jeopardise that. “It’s an awful long way, Bethy. And what about your medication? It sounds a lovely idea, but there’s the practical side of things – I just can’t think how we’d get round it.”

Beth looked as though she might burst into tears. “Ciaran, this would mean so much to me. It’s going to be my last Christmas, after all.”

Ciaran dropped his head. The blunt finality of her words made him want to be sick.

Beth composed herself and began her next round of reasoning. “I mentioned the thought to Michael Romily. He said they could arrange for district nurse cover up there, y’know, to sort out my syringe drivers and stuff. I’m sure we could do it. Michael seemed perfectly okay about it. They can’t do an awful lot for me down here anyway.
Please
…
think about it at least.”

In the end Ciaran agreed to talk to Ed and Cassie. If they were up for it, then they would go. Beth was confident there’d be no problem there.

The next day at visiting, Beth put the proposition to Rosie. “You’ll love it up there, Ros, and Mum’ll spoil you rotten. It’ll be a real family Christmas.”

Whatever one of those is,
thought Rosie. Gavin’s face stuck itself obstinately in her mind’s eye. A family Christmas certainly wasn’t on
his
agenda. “Are you fit to travel?” Rosie couldn’t help feeling sceptical. “It must be a few hours’ journey.”