As the Crow Flies (7 page)

“Don’t
forget, you can insist on a blindfold. Just a pity you don’t smoke,” were Tommy’s
last words as Charlie disappeared across the parade ground at the double.

The
sergeant came to a halt outside the adjutant’s hut, and an out-of-breath
Charlie caught up with him just as the door was opened by a color sergeant who
turned to Charlie and said, “Stand to attention, lad, remain one pace behind me
and don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Understood?”

“Yes,
Color Sergeant.”

Charlie
followed the color sergeant through the outer office until they reached another
door marked “Capt. Trentham, Adj.” Charlie could feel his heart pumping away as
the color sergeant knocked quietly on the door.

“Enter,”
said a bored voice and the two men marched in, took four paces forward and came
to a halt in front of Captain Trentham.

The
color sergeant saluted.

“Private
Trumper, 7312087, reporting as ordered, sir,” he bellowed, despite neither of
them being more than a yard away from Captain Trentham.

The
adjutant looked up from behind his desk.

“Ah
yes, Trumper. I remember, you’re the baker’s lad from Whitechapel.” Charlie was
about to correct him when Trentham turned away to stare out of the window,
obviously not anticipating a reply. “The sergeant major has had his eye on you
for several weeks,” Trentham continued, “and feels you’d be a good candidate
for promotion to lance corporal. I have my doubts, I must confess. However, I
do accept that occasionally it’s necessary to promote a volunteer in order to
keep up morale in the ranks. I presume you will take on this responsibility,
Trumper?” he added still not bothering to look in Charlie’s direction.

Charlie
didn’t know what to say.

“Yes,
sir, thank you, sir,” offered the color sergeant before bellowing, “About turn,
quick march, left, right, left, right.”

Ten
seconds later Lance Corporal Charlie Trumper of the Royal Fusiliers found
himself back out on the parade ground.

“Lance
Corporal Trumper,” said Tommy in disbelief after he had been told the news. “Does
that mean I ‘ave to call you ‘sir’?”

“Don’t
be daft, Tommy. ‘Corp’ will do,” Charlie said with a grin, as he sat on the end
of the bed sewing a single stripe onto an arm of his uniform.

The
following day Charlie’s section of ten began to wish that he hadn’t spent the
previous fourteen years of his life visiting the early morning market. Their
drill, their boots, their turnout and their weapons training became the
benchmark for the whole company, as Charlie drove them harder and harder. The
highlight for Charlie, however, came in the eleventh week, when they left the
barracks to travel to Glasgow where Tommy won the King’s Prize for rifle
shooting, beating all the officers and men from seven other regiments.

“You’re
a genius,” said Charlie, after the colonel had presented his friend with the
silver cup.

“Wonder
if there’s an ‘elf good fence to be found in Glasgow,’ was all Tommy had to say
on the subject.

The
passing out parade was held on Saturday, 23 February 1918, which ended with
Charlie marching his section up and down the parade ground keeping step with
the regimental band, and for the first time feeling like a soldier even if
Tommy still resembled a sack of potatoes.

When
the parade finally came to an end, Sergeant Major Philpott congratulated them
all and before dismissing the parade told the troops they could take the rest
of the day off, but they must return to barracks and be tucked up in bed before
midnight.

The
assembled company was let loose on Edinburgh for the last time. Tommy took
charge again as the lads of Number 11 platoon lurched from pub to pub becoming
drunker and drunker, before finally ending up in their established local, the
Volunteer, on Leith Walk.

Ten
happy soldiers stood around the piano sinking pint after pint as they sang, “Pack
up your troubles in your old kit bag” and repeating every other item in their
limited repertoire. Tommy, who was accompanying them on the mouth organ,
noticed that Charlie couldn’t take his eyes off Rose the barmaid who, although
on the wrong side of thirty, never stopped flirting with the young recruits.
Tommy broke away from the group to join his friend at the bar. “Fancy ‘er,
mate, do you?”

“Yep,
but she’s your girl,” said Charlie as he continued to stare at the long-haired
blonde who pretended to ignore their attentions. He noticed that she had one button
of her blouse more than usual undone.

“I
wouldn’t say that,” said Tommy. “In any case, I owe you one for that broken
nose.”

Charlie
laughed when Tommy added, “So we’ll ‘ave to see what I can do about it.” Tommy
winked at Rose, then left Charlie to join her at the far end of the bar.

Charlie
found that he couldn’t get himself to look at them, although he was still able
to see from their reflection in the mirror behind the bar that they were deep
in conversation. Rose on a couple of occasions turned to look in his direction.
A moment later Tommy was standing by his side.

“It’s
all fixed, Charlie,” he said.

“What
do you mean, ‘fixed’?”

“Exactly
what I said. All you ‘ave to do is go out to the shed at the back of the pub
where they pile up them empty crates, and Rose should be with you in a jiffy.”

Charlie
sat glued to the bar stool.

“Well,
get on with it,” said Tommy, “before the bleedin’ woman changes her mind.”

Charlie
slipped off his stool and out of a side door without looking back. He only
hoped that no one was watching him, as he almost ran down the unlit passage and
out of the back door. He stood alone in the corner of the yard feeling more
than a little stupid as he stamped up and down to keep wamm. A shiver went
through him and he began to wish he were back in the bar. A few moments later
he shivered again, sneezed and decided the time had come to return to his mates
and forget it. He was walking towards the door just as Rose came bushing out.

“‘Ello,
I’m Rose. Sorry I took so long, but a customer came in just as you darted off.”
He stared at her in the poor light that filtered through a tiny window above
the door. Yet another button was undone, revealing the top of a black girdle.

“Charlie
Trumper,” said Charlie, offering her his hand.

“I
know.” She giggled. “Tommy told me all about you, said you were probably the
best lay in the platoon. “

“I
think ‘e might ‘ave been exaggeratin’,” said Charlie turning bright red, as
Rose reached out with both her hands, taking him in her arms. She kissed him
first on his neck, then his face and finally his mouth. She then parted Charlie’s
lips expertly before her tongue began to play with his.

To
begin with Charlie was not quite sure what was happening, but he liked the sensation
so much that he just continued to hold on to her, and after a time even began
to press his tongue against hers. It was Rose who was the first to break away.

“Not
so hard, Charlie. Relax. Prizes are awarded for endurance, not for strength.”

Charlie
began to kiss her again, this time more gently as he felt the corner of a beer
crate jab into his buttocks. He tentatively placed a hand on her left breast,
and let it remain there, not quite sure what to do next as he tried to make
himself slightly more comfortable. It didn’t seem to matter that much, because
Rose knew exactly what was expected of her and quickly undid the remaining
buttons of her blouse, revealing ample breasts well worthy of her name. She
lifted a leg up onto a pile of old beer crates, leaving Charlie faced with an
expanse of bare pink thigh. He placed his free hand tentatively on the soft
flesh. He wanted to run his fingers up as far as they would go, but he remained
motionless, like a frozen frame in a black and white film.

Once
again Rose took the lead, and removing her arms from around his neck started to
undo the buttons on the front of his trousers. A moment later she slid her hand
inside his underpants and started to rub. Charlie couldn’t believe what was
happening although he felt it was well worth getting a broken nose for.

Rose
began to rub faster and faster and started to pull down her knickers with her
free hand. Charlie felt more and more out of control until suddenly Rose
stopped, pulled herself away and stared down the front of her dress. “If you’re
the best lay the platoon has to offer, I can only hope the Germans win this
bloody war.”

The
following morning battalion orders were posted on the board in the duty
officers’ mess. The new battalion of Fusiliers was now considered to be of
fighting strength and were expected to join the Allies on the Western Front.
Charlie wondered if the comradeship that had bound such a disparate bunch of
lads together during the past three months was quite enough to make them capable
of joining combat with the elite of the German army.

On
the train journey back south they were cheered once again as they passed
through every station, and this time Charlie felt they were more worthy of the
hatted ladies’ respect. Finally that evening the engine pulled into Maidstone,
where they disembarked, and were put up for the night at the local barracks of
the Royal West Kents.

At
zero six hundred hours the following morning Captain Trentham gave them a full
briefing: they were to be transported by ship to Boulogne, they learned and
after ten days’ further training they would be expected to march on to Etaples,
where they would join their regiment under the command of LieutentantColonel
Sir Danvers Hamilton, DSO, who, they were assured, was preparing for a massive
assault on the German defenses. They spent the rest of the morning checking
over their equipment before being herded up a gangplank and onto the waiting
troop carrier.

After
the ship’s foghorn had blasted out six times they set sail from Dover, one
thousand men huddled together on the deck of HMS Resolution, singing, “It’s a
Long Way to Tipperary.”

“Ever
been abroad before, Corp?” Tommy asked.

“No,
not unless you count Scotland,” replied Charlie.

“Neither
‘ave I,” said Tommy nervously. After a few more minutes he mumbled, “You
frightened?”

“No,
of course not,” said Charlie. “Bleedin’ terrified. “

“Me
too,” said Tommy.

“Goodbye
Piccadilly, farewell Leicester Square. It’s a long, long way to...”

C
harlie felt
seasick only a few minutes after the English coast was out of sight. “I’ve
never been on a boat before,” he admitted to Tommy, “unless you count the
paddle steamer at Brighton.” Over half the men around him spent the crossing
bringing up what little food they had eaten for breakfast.

“No
officers coughin’ up as far as I can see,” said Tommy.

“Perhaps
that lot are used to sailin’.”

“Or
doing it in their cabins.”

When
at last the French coast came in sight, a cheer went up from the soldiers on
deck. By then all they wanted to do was set foot on dry land. And dry it would
have been if the heavens hadn’t opened the moment the ship docked and the
troops set foot on French soil. Once everyone had disembarked, the sergeant
major warned them to prepare for a fifteen-mile route-march.

Charlie
kept his section squelching forward through the mud with songs from the music
halls, accompanied by Tommy on the mouth organ. When they reached Etaples and
had set up camp for the night, Charlie decided that perhaps the gymnasium in
Edinburgh had been luxury after all.

Once
the last post had been played, two thousand eyes closed, as soldiers under
canvas for the first time tried to sleep. Each platoon had placed two men on
guard duty, with orders to change them every two hours, to ensure that no one
went without rest. Charlie drew the four o’clock watch with Tommy.

After
a restless night of tossing and turning on lumpy, wet French soil, Charlie was
woken at four, and in turn kicked Tommy, who simply turnd over and went
straight back to sleep. Minutes later Charlie was outside the tent, buttoning
up his jacket before continually slapping himself on the back in an effort to
keep warm. As his eyes slowly became accustomed to the half light, he began to
make out row upon row of brown tents stretching as far as the eye could see.

“Mornin’,
Corp,” said Tommy, when he appeared a little after four-twenty. “Got a lucifer,
by any chance?”

“No,
I ‘aven’t. And what I need is an ‘or cocoa, or an ‘ot somethin’.”

“Whatever
your command, Corp.”

Tommy
wandered off to the cookhouse tent and resumed half an hour later with two hot
cocoas and two dry biscuits.

“No
sugar, I’m afraid,” he told Charlie. “That’s only for sergeants and above. I
told them you were a general in disguise but they said that all the generals
were back in London sound asleep in their beds.”

Charlie
smiled as he placed his frozen fingers round the hot mug and sipped slowly to
be sure that the simple pleasure lasted.

Tommy
surveyed the skyline. “So where are all these bleedin’ Germans we’ve been told
so much about?”