The Child Left Behind (12 page)

‘You could be right.’ Christy added, ‘Anyway, I am hitting the sack. The word is we are all setting out early tomorrow.’

‘So what’s new?’ Finn said with a grin. ‘We always set out early. I’m not sure that bugler goes to bed at all.’

And they did set out early the next morning, but still the sun was well up and the day a very pleasant one. They kept up a good pace and by the second day they realised the area was slightly different from the flat land they had seen when they had first arrived in France, more undulating and wooded in places. It was easier on the eye and more interesting to walk through, and the following day they marched through a town called Albert.

It was obvious that the small town had been shelled heavily. Many buildings had been destroyed and there were piles of masonry or gaping holes. People came out into the streets to see the soldiers pass, and while there were some who gave a desultory wave, others just looked resigned. Finn thought he could hardly blame them. More soldiers to them probably signified more fighting, more loss of life, and perhaps more heartache for them all.

With the town in the distance, however, Finn and Christy had their first sight of mile upon mile of trenches, scorching into the green fields before them, like gigantic white snakes, illustrating how chalky the soil was. Finn remembered the white cliffs of Dover they had seen from the boat when they had first sailed.

He thought he knew all about trenches, but Ireland’s trenches were mere ditches to these monstrous constructions. Sergeant Lancaster said the chalky soil meant the trenches would be easy to dig, but, he imagined, they would be easier to crumble away too.

Eventually they stopped for the night, and after a meal of stew and potatoes, which everyone was ready for, Finn and Christy went to inspect the nearest trenches and saw they were reinforced with hundreds of sandbags and wood with wooden duckboards laid down to walk on. There were intersections too where one trench joined another, making little bays, and ladders at intervals along the length. Finn wondered how he would feel when he had orders to go up one of those ladders.

The next day, 108th and 109th Brigade were marched further on still until a halt was ordered west of a village called Thiepval. There Finn and Christy saw dugouts for the first time, which they found were living and sleeping quarters built underneath the trenches.

Finn’s stomach quailed at the thought of entering the dark tunnel that opened up at the side of a trench, for he was no lover of confined or enclosed places. But he swallowed his panic and followed the others. The steps appeared to go on and on until he felt as if he was descending to the bowels of the earth, and when they emerged into a sort
of corridor Finn wasn’t the only one to sigh with relief.

Lieutenant Haywood, leading them, said, ‘This is not your journey’s end. Your billet is on a lower level yet. The accommodation here is for officers.’

So they went further down and eventually, they reached another corridor with rooms off. Lieutenant Haywood opened the first of these doors and Finn saw that the room had six bunks to either side, each with folded bedclothes on the pillow, and there was a small table between each set of bunks.

‘Make your beds up,’ Lieutenant Haywood ordered, lighting the lamps already set on the tables from his own. ‘Then make your way to the canteen where you will be fed and given your issue of candles.’

‘I’ll never settle to this,’ Finn said, looking around the room with distaste, when the lieutenant had left.

‘I don’t think I will either,’ Christy agreed.

But they were to find that however grim the surroundings, they were sometimes glad to reach them when the depth of them meant the noise of any bombardment was more muffled and they felt moderately safer. The hundreds of tons of soil above their heads was then a comfort rather than something to be feared. They also found much camaraderie between the other men in their billet and if any got parcels from home or anywhere else, they were always shared out among them all. The twelve men soon drew very close.

Like all the Irish they could make a story up about anything, but the best of them all was Dinny McColl. His stories about his large and extended family were legion. They couldn’t all be true, but what did that matter? Whatever your mood, Dinny could always put a smile on your face. Finn respected the young man: he was not stupid and he knew what they were up against, and probably had moments of doubt or apprehension, even fear, but if he had there was no sign of it in his demeanour.

Finn was taught card games for the first time in his life. All the Sullivan men had been turned off the idea of gambling away their hard-earned money by their father. He had often told them that he had seen gambling have such a hold on some men that it had badly affected their wives and children’s lives, and so Finn hadn’t a clue how to play anything. He soon learned, though, and as none of the soldiers had any spare money they only played for fun. Their card games did help to fill the times of inactivity and prevented Finn thinking of what lay ahead.

The front-line trenches had a sort of parapet to them that was made by the soil dug out to make the trench in the first place. Finn was shown how to use the trench periscope to see over the top without raising his head.

Sometimes the sides of the trenches did crumble away, as Sergeant Lancaster had warned they might, and chalky flakes would sometimes line the
back of a person’s throat or fill up his nostrils, but the men learned to cope with that like everything else. The trenches weren’t heavily guarded, even those in the front line, unless they were told to ‘Stand ready’. There were more soldiers drafted in at dawn and dusk because that’s when an attack was more likely, and the trench intersections were always manned heavily.

The trenches were just as uncomfortable and dismal as Finn and Christy expected them to be, especially as the month, which had been warm and quite sunny, became overcast, cold and wet. Finn was often drenched and thoroughly chilled, and the food was sparse, cold or nonexistent. He was usually more than happy to return to the drier quarters of the dugout to rest his weary bones and close his smarting eyes.

Rats were another bugbear of the trenches and their size had to be seen to be believed. Finn had grown up on a farm where rats were commonplace, but he had never seen rats like these. They were as plump and big as any cat, and totally unafraid as they scurried along the duckboards. One of Lieutenant Haywood’s favourite sports was shooting them with his pistol. His men cheered when he got one and yet it seemed there were another two to take the place of any he killed.

They had been there for over a fortnight when, one night, Finn bumped into Father Clifford, who had been working with brigades further down the line. Finn asked him again about finding out how
he was to make some allowance for Gabrielle, and Father Clifford told him that he would enquire.

The priest, however, was given short shrift when he asked. By then, the whole area was on high alert, officers running hither and thither, issuing orders and then rescinding them, and the priest was told sharply that the middle of one of the largest campaigns of the war was no time to be dealing with personal issues.

Father Clifford didn’t tell Finn this, because he knew he might fret about it. A fighting man didn’t need to have other concerns on his mind. He told him instead that the matter was in hand and Finn was satisfied with that. He also wrote the letter to his parents telling them of his marriage to the beautiful Gabrielle, which he left with Father Clifford, and sent another to Gabrielle herself, telling her that things were hotting up and assuring her of his love.

And then the barrage began. Finn knew—they all knew—that it was a technique designed to wipe out the German defences. It certainly cheered him, Christy and many of the others, who thought that when they eventually ‘went over the top’ German resistance would be minimal. The news reporters and film crews allowed into the battlefield were recording it all for the people back home, as day after day the bombardment and shelling went on. Their dugouts at least gave them some respite from the full force of the ear-splitting noise, which could be heard across the Channel.

It had been going on for almost a week when Lieutenant Haywood came to talk to his men. They had been delayed for two days already, he told them, because of the atrocious weather, but the weather reports for the following day, Saturday 1 July, promised to be dry and fine so the Big Push was set for the morning.

‘The Ulster regiments are to be in the forefront of the attack,’ he said. ‘But 108th and 109th Brigades will attack from the side ten minutes after the main onslaught. So on the whistle you will leave your trenches, make for the woods and assemble there. It has been shelled already but will afford you some shelter. In fact, we have pounded Jerry so hard that we have probably wiped out most of any resistance.’

‘What is our objective, sir?’ Sergeant Lancaster asked.

‘To gain control of Schwaben Redoubt,’ the lieutenant said, pinning a map on the wall and pointing with his stick. ‘Reinforcements from other regiments should also have broken through by then and will join you there. You will proceed to St Pierre Divion and Beaucourt Station.’

Finn felt his mouth go suddenly dry. He knew this was the real thing, what he had joined the army for nearly two years earlier. Now he was to find out what he was made of.

‘Thieoval village itself will be attacked by the Salford Pals,’ the lieutenant went on. ‘It has already been heavily shelled, most of the buildings razed
to the ground and the people long gone. However, many of the houses have strong cellars and there may well be Germans holed up in there. They are to be rooted out.

‘We go over the top tomorrow,’ he continued, his eyes raking up and down the lines of men. In a voice as cold as steel he continued, ‘And remember, if your comrade falls, you step over him and go on, even if the man is related to you. Your duty is to go forward.’ He saw the men were uncomfortable with such orders and so he went on, ‘To do anything else could be seen as cowardice and you could end up being shot. Have you all got that?’

Finn and Christy exchanged glances. Oh, they had got it, all right, and Finn thought it left a nasty taste in his mouth. But they were in the army and that army made up its own rules, they had to obey them or else.

They were in the trenches ready for the signal. Father Clifford was moving among the company, hearing confessions, giving Communion, just simply praying, or putting his hand on a man’s shoulder in a gesture of support, and didn’t seem to mind about his soutane trailing in the mud.

‘Would you like him to hear your confession?’ Christy asked.

‘Are you kidding?’ Finn said. ‘My nerves are jumping about all over the place and I might come out with anything. Anyway, he heard my confession only a few days ago. I haven’t had a chance to sin at anything yet. Now isn’t that a sad admission to make?’

Christy was unable to reply for the priest was at his elbow. ‘Are you set?’ he asked them both.

‘As set as we ever will be,’ Finn said. ‘Is anyone ever ready for war?’

‘It is a righteous war,’ the priest said. ‘And you will win through with God’s help.’

‘Yes, Father,’ Christy and Finn chorused, knowing it was always safer to agree with a priest. He blessed them both, made the sign of the cross on their foreheads then moved on. Christy and Finn watched him go as the trench mortar batteries ceased firing. Finn’s muscles tensed because he knew the orders to go over the top would come soon, and fear of what was to come trailed down his spine. In the eerie quiet he adjusted his rifle, checked his bayonet was secure, and he waited.

When the whistle sounded into the early morning, there was no room for fear or hesitation of any sort as the men scrambled up the ladders. Once out of the trench they were running for the relative shelter of the woods. They were hardly able to see anything as a smoke screen had been set up to conceal the advancing Ulster troops.

The swirling smoke caught in Finn’s throat and made him cough, but he thought that far better than being shot to pieces; if he couldn’t see the enemy then they wouldn’t be able to see him.

He drew to a halt in the wood and flung himself beside Christy on his stomach in the partial shelter of the trees.

‘This is the one day when I would have preferred cloudy skies or even rain,’ he told his friend.

‘Why?’

‘Don’t you see?’ Finn cried. ‘If that smoke screen disperses we will be at a disadvantage because our direction is uphill and to the east, into the rising sun.’

‘Aye, I see,’ Christy said. ‘We’ll be like sitting ducks.’

‘That’s about the shape of it,’ Finn replied. ‘Now we must wait here until it is our turn and see if we are both right.’

The wait was agonising, and though they couldn’t see much they could hear plenty. The German guns were barking out relentlessly towards the advancing troops and they heard cries and screams as some evidently reached their marks.

After a few minutes, Christy’s horrified eyes met those of Finn. ‘Can you hear those bloody guns?’ he said in a shocked whisper. ‘I thought that they expected opposition to be minimal.’

Finn could read the fear in Christy’s face and heard it in his voice. He was no better for the blood ran like ice in his veins.

‘It’s what we were led to believe. We’ll likely find out the right of it soon enough because Lieutenant Haywood is on his feet, look.’

The men stood up, all eyes on the lieutenant, who was scrutinising his watch. ‘Right men. Stand ready,’ he said. ‘Just a few minutes longer.’

Finn’s body was tense. He felt as if every nerve was exposed and tingling. And then came the order.

‘Charge!’

There was no time to think or feel. Finn went on with the rest, but when he burst from the cover of the wood he knew no words to describe the scene. The whole field beyond the barbed wire was littered with dead and wounded. Some of them
were crying out, but their voices could barely be heard above the sound of battle, the barking of the rifles, the whining shells exploding and the constant tattoo of machine-gun fire. Some were still twitching, and others, with limbs blown off, were lying in pools of their own blood. He was shocked by the enormity of such tragedy.

They had no time to stand and stare, however, for the lieutenant was urging them on. They slithered under the barbed wire, and then Finn and Christy were crossing no man’s land side by side.

The swirly smoke had disappeared and so the enemy had a clear sight of them from the top of the hill. They dipped and dodged around their stricken comrades, hoping to escape the bullets whining past their heads and the shells erupting all round them, but the sun was in their eyes, as Finn had prophesied that it would be.

They hadn’t even reached the first enemy trench when the lieutenant was struck. The first bullet struck his shoulder and he staggered, a second found his chest. He sank to his knees and then keeled over. His eyes were shut, but he was breathing.

‘Sir!’ Finn cried. ‘Lieutenant Haywood!’

The man’s eyes opened and his voice was little above a whisper as he said. ‘Go on, Sullivan, damn you. Go on.’

Finn still hesitated and the lieutenant croaked out. ‘That’s an order, Sullivan.’

‘But, sir…’

Christy was pulling his sleeve. ‘Come on, man. He’s gone anyway.’

Finn saw that Christy was right. The lieutenant’s head had fallen sideways and blood was dripping from his mouth. Finn didn’t need to feel for the pulse in the neck.

‘Let’s be at them and avenge his death,’ Christy said. ‘And all those fine boys and men left lying here.’

Finn nodded. He started to run, Christy beside him, bending low and from side to side, and while men in front and to either side of them were hit and fell, no bullets touched them. They stormed the first German trench, Finn fighting like a mad man. He had once expressed doubts about ever sticking a bayonet in a human being but he had had no doubts now. He seemed invincible and so did Christy, and Dinny McColl was just ahead of them.

Prisoners were taken and sent back to the British lines under guard. The Inniskillings went on to three support trenches with similar success. They continued to advance now led by Sergeant Lancaster, and they entered the southern end of the Schwaben Redoubt where they overwhelmed the German resistance and four hundred prisoners were taken and sent back to the British lines. Finn felt adrenalin pumping through his body.

However, as they proceeded up the Redoubt they met with heavy fire and many were hit. Eventually they were forced to withdraw to the earlier captured trenches.

‘I wonder where the promised reinforcements are,’
Christy said. ‘There are too few of us to hold this for very long.’

But the hours ticked by and no reinforcements appeared. Finn found the waiting getting to him. ‘We can’t just sit here all day, Sarge,’ he said at last.

‘What do you suggest, Sullivan?’ the sergeant asked testily. ‘An attack with so few will just massacre the rest of us.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Finn said, ‘if we go in all guns blazing. I don’t know if they have more men than we do, though. I mean, just a handful of soldiers could hold this because they are in a far better strategic position at the top of the hill. How about small groups going up either side and surprising them?’

‘It’s madness.’

Finn shrugged. ‘We better wait then, Sarge,’ he said. ‘But didn’t the 36th Division promise no surrender?’

The sergeant knew he had to make a decision. It was beginning to look as if there was not going to be any further support. If they did nothing they would have to stay where they were until nightfall and then retreat.

Retreat stuck in the sergeant’s craw. So many men had died or were injured already, and if he and his men just retreated those comrades would have died in vain. He knew too that it would be doubly hard to retake this position later because the Germans would reinforce it. Sullivan could be right: little more than a handful of men could
control that hill. What if that proved to be the case? Would his failure to advance be cowardice?

‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘The German guns and attention will be focused down the hill and they probably think that if we were going to attack we would have done so by now and may have relaxed their guard a little. Two groups of us will attack the side trenches.’ He picked up a stick and drew on a stone. ‘We will creep right to the back if we can,’ he said. ‘That will be the last thing they’ll expect and when we have them engaged, the rest of you attack the front trenches.’

Finn wasn’t the only relieved one. It was much better when a plan of action was devised and they were doing something, even if it was risky. The sergeant chose two teams of eight men. Finn, Christy and Dinny McColl were in the sergeant’s own team.

They began to make their way slowly and stealthily down the hillside avoiding any patches of scree that might crunch beneath their boots and betray their positions. When they reached the back end of the trenches, the sergeant gave them his thumbs up.

The Germans had posted a sentry, but he was looking the other way. The sergeant withdrew his knife and killed him virtually silently. Then one by one the British slipped into the German trench. The Germans were taken totally by surprise, but the other group of Inniskillings were running up the hill before they had time to position their rifles. The fight
was fast and furious, and the Ulstermen were gaining the upper hand when suddenly Finn saw the silver flash of a bayonet and called out a warning to Dinny. He turned, but too late, and the German drove the bayonet into Dinny’s side. He slithered to the muddy ground, his life blood pumping from him.

‘You murdering bastard!’ Finn cried, intent on avenging Dinny’s death. He failed to notice another German soldier creeping up on him. Christy screamed as he saw the bayonet slice into Finn’s body and, too close to shoot him, he smashed his rifle down on the German’s head.

Around him the day’s fighting was drawing to a close. The remaining Germans surrendered and were disarmed, but Christy had eyes only for the mate he had known for ever. He felt as if a lump of lead was in his stomach as he remembered Finn saying that he would hate to end his life on the end of a bayonet. Finn’s eyes were glazed, but still open. Christy kneeled beside him.

‘Go on,’ Finn said weakly. ‘You know the rules.’

‘Bugger the rules.’

‘You can bugger them all you like. But you still have to obey them, you know that,’ Finn said.

‘I could pull you back to the bottom of the Redoubt and try and find you some shade. It might be ages before the medics come,’ Christy said.

‘No, you couldn’t,’ Finn croaked. ‘You could be shot for disobeying orders and I wouldn’t make it anyway.’

‘What rubbish are you spouting now?’

‘No rubbish,’ Finn said slowly, his voice beginning to slur. ‘This is the end of the road for me, Christy.’

‘Ah, no, man,’ Christy said. He was unable to see the glistening of Finn’s eyes because of the tears in his own. ‘You’re my best mate. We’ve been together through thick and thin. You can’t give up on me now.’ Tears spilled over and trickled down his cheeks. But he knew just by looking at the waxen pallor of Finn’s skin, and the trickle of blood seeping through his blue-tinged lips, that he spoke the truth. He felt sick to his very soul.

‘Take my dog tag,’ Finn said, and Christy had to strain to hear every painful word he was gasping out. ‘Look out for Gabrielle and the child for me, and tell Gabrielle I died still loving her with all my heart and soul.’

He closed his eyes and suddenly there was a rattle in his throat followed by a sudden gasp and then silence.

There was a roaring in Christy’s head too and a soundless voice screaming denial that Finn should be dead.

But he was gone, the boy and then the man he had known and loved all his life, and he didn’t know how he was going to bear the loss of him. Already, he was feeling as if he had a hollow pit of pain in his stomach. He unfastened Finn’s dog tag, told his name, serial number, brigade number and regiment, and he put it in his own tunic
pocket and lay for a moment almost overwhelmed with grief. Then, because there was nothing else to do, he began to slither after his comrades.

He had reached the other side of the hill and was hurrying to catch up when a shell came from nowhere. Instinctively Christy rolled into a ball, but it lifted him into the air and he landed in a crater and knew no more.

The Ulster battalions captured the redoubt in vain. Their reinforcements had been beaten back by the Germans and they were given orders to retreat under cover of darkness. The medical orderlies were hard at work in no man’s land, taking the casualties to the infirmary on stretchers.

Father Clifford, who had been shaken by the tragic savagery of that first day, worked alongside them, almost overwhelmed with sorrow. Never in all his life had he seen so many corpses. Some had even been killed as they left the trenches, had tumbled back into it and lay spread-eagled on the duckboards. Some were impaled on the wire, but no man’s land was a sea of bodies and parts and pieces of bodies.

The short summer night was almost over, there was definitely a lightening of the sky, and he was just leaving the infirmary to collect more casualties when they brought in Christy’s unconscious form. The priest gasped when he saw him and the stump of his left leg that the orderlies had tended to in the field to try to stem the bleeding.

‘Someone you know?’ the doctor asked as he cut the clothes from him.

The priest nodded. ‘Yes, but then I know so many of them. His name is Christopher Byrne and he is with the Royal Inniskillings.’

‘Odd,’ the doctor said, reaching into Christy’s tunic pocket. ‘There is a tag here that says his name is Finn Sullivan. ‘And he showed it to the priest.’

‘That’s his best mate,’ the priest said. ‘They have been bosom buddies since they were small.’ He knew the only reason Christy would have removed Finn’s dog tag was if he was dead, and he told the doctor that. ‘Will Christy make it?’ he asked.

‘Probably,’ the doctor said. ‘But he needs to be prepared for surgery.’

Father Clifford left them to it and returned to his tent, beaten down by heartache. He thought of Finn’s pretty little wife and the child she was carrying, and Finn’s parents, whom Finn had once told him hadn’t wanted him to enlist in the first place. After what he had seen that day, he didn’t blame them either.