Andrew Wareham - The Death of Hope

“Mr Orpington! A pleasure to see you. When were you released from hospital?”

“Four weeks ago, sir.”

The young second lieutenant spoke with a slight slur, his left upper lip thick with scar tissue that extended across his cheek, under the eye and round to the ear. His whole face was slightly lopsided, the scarring tugging at his right cheek and lips.

“I had feared that you might never return to active service, Orpington.”

“I was lucky, sir. Three in the belly that missed liver and kidneys and everything important. They hurt, nothing more. The one across the face took longest to heal, sir. Only just back to chewing solid food. They wanted me to go back to hospital for another operation, or two or three, to reduce the scar tissue. I’ve had enough of hospitals! I was passed fit for service three days ago and was permitted to join your 8 thBattalion, sir. Might be an advantage of the scar, sir, giving me a bit of leeway, you might say, the base-wallahs a bit nervous of the warrior returning to battle. Seems to be the way the bloody fools think in England, sir! I know I am an extra – but only for a week or two, I expect!”

Richard grimaced. They had lost no officers in the three days they had been in the line. He was surprised, had expected some of the youngest to be rash in exposing themselves above the parapet. They were due to go raiding that evening and would repeat over other days; they would certainly lose men.

“You are very welcome, Orpington. I am flattered and very pleased that you asked to join me. We made a good team together in the 3 rdBattalion. For the while, until you join a company, which, as you say, is inevitable, I think the best thing is for you to be my doggie, as we used to call it in the Navy. The Adjutant is worked off his feet and the Major is busy as hell – I can make damned good use of a man with your experience and knowledge running chores for me, thinking as well as passing messages. Introduce yourself to Major Vokes and arrange your dugout with him – I think Captain Hawkeswill has a spare bunk in his and it’s conveniently close to me.”

Orpington tried to smile, achieved an unattractive grimace and marched off to find the Major, exchanging salutes with Sergeant Major O’Grady as he left.

“Sure and I never expected to see that young man back again, sir. A good young officer and will be welcome, I cannot doubt.”

“Badly scarred up, ‘Major. Pity for a youngster of his age – he cannot be twenty yet. Not going to be easy smiling at the girls.”

“That I don’t know, sir. Any lass who turns her back on him for an honourable wound, well, he will be better off without her.”

“Easy enough for us old men to say, ‘Major. For a youngster it’s likely to be hard, nerving himself to be seen in society.”

“So say the greybeards, sir.”

Richard Baker was reminded that he was not yet twenty-one, by a matter of days, and was colonel of his battalion. Not the youngest in the BEF, he had been told – there were two other twenty year olds with battalions of their own in the Trenches.

“Best he should be made up, do you agree, ‘Major?”

“He has the experience in the line, sir, and stood his ground at Neuve Chapelle. He will make the grade, sir. Lieutenant immediately, captain in a month or two. Higher than that? Who knows, sir?”

The sergeant major evidently saw no great military genius in the boy. Richard would not venture to disagree – O’Grady was soldiering before he went to school.

“I’ll speak to the Brigadier now.”

The telephone system cooperated and Richard had a clear line, could hear all that Brigadier Braithwaite had to say. At least a half of calls had to be abandoned because of the buzzing and crackling that drowned their voices.

“Young Orpington is back from hospital, sir, and asked to come over to us in 8 thBattalion. He’s still only a second lieutenant. Permission to raise him, sir?”

“By all means, Baker. Good lad, that one. Well done of him to come back – with his wounds he could have looked for a depot posting in England. Easy to argue that he had done his share. Now, these raids tonight… Are you sure you must go out with them?”

“The only way to know what’s facing us is to get a look at them, sir. I need to get across there once at least. Add to that – it’s our first venture into action. I want the boys to know that they are to follow me. Like you, I am to lead my battalion. I am not to be nothing more than the figure in the background who gives out the orders. If the time comes that we have to stand firm against an advance, then they need to know that I will be there at their front, as you were last autumn.”

Braithwaite was flattered, had to agree that he had been well to the front in his day.

“Don’t like it, Baker! No choice but agree to your actions. Don’t leave me having to write a letter to your little Primrose, young man!”

“Last thing I might wish, sir! I much hope that I shall be able to write my own letters, sir… Not easy, is it? Writing home and trying to say that all is well and she must not worry and knowing that she is an intelligent girl and well capable of reading all that is unsaid. The more I reassure her that nothing can go wrong, the greater her worries must become!”

“Just so, Baker! I sat down for an hour with pen and paper last night, trying to write home. Well, not a try as such, I finished a letter and sent it off. Wasn’t happy with it, didn’t say enough and couldn’t say too much. Not so hard for you young men – I’m no spring chicken and taking a wife at my age is no small matter… Glad I did though. Fine lady, Mrs Brigadier! Thing is, Baker, poor gel’s been widowed once already – not that her first was much of a loss! Knew him – she was pushed by her parents into marrying at sixteen, because he had money. Best thing that could have happened to her when he died five years later. Put all his cash, everything he had got, into a gold mine, the damned fool! Stuck a twelve-bore shotgun in his mouth – must have been messy – when the mine failed, the vein or seam or whatever they call it came to a sudden end and the shares fell to a penny from five pounds the week before. Funny thing was, six months later they dropped another shaft or somesuch a couple of hundred feet lower and there it was again, richer than ever. When probate came through the shares were higher than before. My clever lady sold out at their peak!”

Richard was amazed, as he must be, wondering quite why he should be told such detail of the lady’s finances and history.

“Back in ’05, that was, Baker. Stayed single for damned near ten years and then decided to marry me, of all people! Known her for years, of course, her family lived close to mine. Always admired her, from a distance, second son and all that, no way for me to marry. Best thing ever happened to me – there I was suddenly in the market for a wife when my brother died and she snapped me up just like that. That’s why I want to make sure she ain’t worried by the letters I send back. Tell her everything’s fine and dandy, she’s too sensible to believe that! Write the truth, that the Trenches are a bloodbath, and she’ll be thinking I might be caught up in the slaughterhouse. Not easy!”

“Same here, sir. You know how clever my Primrose is – far more so than me! She will read all I have to say and understand a damned sight more than I want her to, whatever I do. Still, I sent one off to her yesterday. Ought to be well. Is there any progress on extra Vickers for the battalion, sir?”

“None! Bloody fools are considering machine gun regiments, so they tell me. To bolster up the line where needed and provide backing to advances. Plans are for as many as eighty guns to be rushed into action and provide a concentration of firepower to stop any onslaught. An advance will be across no-man’s-land in ten minutes at most – how are they going to march a regiment into place in that time? They argue that no advance takes place without a preliminary softening up by the artillery, so they will have hours to place the guns – marching them up into a massive bombardment!”