Susan Hill - Strange Meeting

‘I know.’

‘Still – we’re ready, aren’t we? We’ve got the lot up here and we know what we’ve got to do. It’s just a question of getting on and doing it. Maybe we’ll be over there tomorrow night, they’ll have run for it and we’ll be kipping in Jerry’s feather beds. They have everything in those trenches of theirs you know, sir – so they say, anyway. All home comforts. They dug themselves in good and proper.’

Barton watched the man’s face as he talked so quickly, talked himself into some sort of reassurance, he saw the twitching at the corner of his eye, the way his mouth moved. He thought that he ought to say something to him, provide the expected words of comfort and support. He could say nothing. He knew. Parkin knew.

‘The left flank go off first don’t they, sir? Then it’s us. So we’ll get the best view of the first round.’

‘That’s right.’

The Rifle Brigade were to take the first wave, then their own Regiment, with Highlanders in support. The C.O. had drawn the plan on a blackboard in coloured chalks, had pointed white arrows to show the direction of the artillery barrage and blue arrows to show the movement of the lines of infantry. The targets, Barmelle Wood and Queronne, were in bright green. He was a clear map maker, the pattern of it all was engraved in Barton’s memory. He saw himself as a blue arrow.

‘Oughtn’t you to get some sleep, sir?’

Barton shifted. He was more reluctant to go in than ever, wide awake and afraid. He moved forward and looked cautiously over the parapet. No Man’s Land lay, still and moonlit and beautiful.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I just needed a breath of air. Goodnight, Parkin.’

‘Do you want to turn the lamp on?’ Hilliard said.

‘I thought you were asleep.’

‘No, I was waiting for you. If you want to read…’

‘No.’

Barton lay down, still in his greatcoat. ‘You’re right. “Not a mouse stirring”.’

‘It often happens like this, it’s uncanny. I remember it in July.’

‘But they must know we’re up to something.’

‘Oh yes. Though that fact is never obvious to High Command, whose faith in the Element of Surprise in attack is really very touching. And quite unshakeable.’

‘John, shall I stop feeling so bloody afraid?’

‘Things will get so busy you’ll have no time for it, that’s all I can promise you. But this is the worst bit, this building up of tension.’

‘Like the dentist.’

‘Rather a pale analogy – but yes.’

‘Shall we be due for leave afterwards, do you suppose?’

‘Surely. We might even get home for Christmas.’

‘Both of us?’

‘Anything is possible. Don’t bank on it though.’

‘I’d like you to come to us for Christmas but your family would object, I imagine.’

‘I could come for part of the time. But really we had better not start building castles in Spain.’

‘John, I want you to come and see it all.’

‘Yes.’

‘I want to take you everywhere, show you everything – oh, it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t come off for Christmas, we’ll do it sometime. There’s so much… I want it all to look right and be right – I want you to like them all.’

‘Will they like me is much more to the point.’

‘Oh, of course they will.’

‘Of course?’

‘Yes, because they couldn’t help it and because you’re my friend – and because really, they like nearly everyone.’

‘So do you, don’t you?’

‘More or less, I suppose.’

‘Has it always been like that? Has it always been so easy for you to love people? To get on with them, to bring them out, say the right things at the right time? Have you always made friends as you’ve done out here?’

‘I’ve never really thought about it. But that part is easy you know. The big outer circle of friends.’

‘Is it?’

‘Oh yes. It’s the other which is the real luck – what we have. That’s another matter altogether. Things don’t happen like this often in a lifetime.’

‘Have you – do you have other friends who – is it the same with anyone else?’

‘No.’

Hilliard felt a rush of joy and his mouth was filled up with the words he wanted to say, his head rang with them and he could say nothing.

Footsteps went by in the trench outside, voices came softly. Then silence again.

In the end they slept.

At breakfast, just after six, it was dark and still uncannily quiet. The men’s faces were pale, unshaven, their eyes staring. They queued for the bread and rashers of fat bacon, stood or sat about drinking the sweet tea, and there would be nothing to do, once they were in battle order, but stand about again, watching and waiting until their turn came.

Walking along towards the platoon sergeant, Hilliard thought that they all knew there was very little chance of this offensive coming off as planned. In simple geographical terms the odds were against them, even though they had confidence in the strength and accuracy of their artillery. Nobody spoke much above a whisper as the dawn came up. But the sky was clear, pale as a dove’s back, there had been no more rain. Between the trees of Barmelle Wood half a mile away on the ridge, a thin mist parted and for a few moments the November sun came out, so that the morning frost shone silver-white and the whole landscape seemed to spread and thin out and fade in a trick of light.

Holding the hot tin mug of tea, Barton looked up and saw it all and felt suddenly elated; his muscles were stiff from the few cold hours of sleep, he had had a nightmare for the first time since coming to France, full of images of dark green water in which he was drowning, yet now, the knot in his stomach dissolved, he was no longer afraid. He thought of Parkin a few hours before, looked along the line and remembered the hours of work that had gone into the planning of this battle, of the weight of gunpower and manpower behind them, and thought, we can do it, we can do it, Parkin was right, what is there to be afraid of? And the sun has come out, we are in luck. We must be in luck.

He had a vision of them all going over the top of the trench and running forward up the slope, hundreds and hundreds of them.

‘All right?’ Hilliard had come back and was standing for a moment beside him. He looked puzzled.

‘Yes. I really am.’ For he left it, he had a hallucinatory sense of possessing more than one man’s share of strength and confidence and hope. It will be all right .

‘Good.’

‘Look…’ Barton nodded up towards the slope and the wood, to where they could just see Queronne in the lemon-white light.

‘It’s like a Turner canvas.’

Hilliard frowned.

‘No – it is. The sun won’t last but it won’t rain either, and just for now it’s very beautiful. Can’t you see that?’

‘I can see that.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘You.’

‘No, no, I’m fine. I haven’t felt like this for weeks. Don’t worry about me. You must never worry about me again.’

Filled with unease, Hilliard turned away.

A few minutes later the men took up their places all along the trench. At eight, with a roar like the explosion of a volcano, the barrage began from their artillery. The men reeled with the shock of the noise after what had been such an unnaturally long silence. But then, for some time there was a sense of general excitement as they watched the smoke begin to rise up in the direction of the enemy front line, saw the great flashes of flame and fountains of earth as the guns scored direct hits.

Half an hour later the Rifle Brigade on the left flank came out and began to advance in perfect order. As far as Hilliard could see the plain in front of the slope was filled with men, following the barrage, sweeping on without meeting any answering fire. He felt a surge of hope in spite of himself that it was going to work after all, the Surprise Element, that this would be the breakthrough, they would go up the slope and breach the wood, take over the trenches and gun positions before the Germans had recovered from the bombardment, which was now the strongest he had ever known. He looked at his watch. He wanted to go, to have it over with.