He’s sitting astride an ancient-looking bicycle, a matching one balanced against his hip. He grins and gives the bell on the handle a playful trill. ‘Never seen a push bike before, Lieutenant? Well, you’re in for a treat. You just plant your backside in the saddle, then use your feet to push the pedals and off you go!’
Taking off my cap, I give the cheeky sod a good swat. ‘I know how to ride a bloody bike.’
He laughs, batting me away, then glances up at the looming tower behind him. ‘Well, as long as you don’t end up taking a tumble like that poor old girl.’
I follow his gaze to where a golden statue hangs precariously from the church tower. The virgin Mary and her infant Christ had stood atop the massive basilica before a German shell dislodged them. Now they hang suspended, as if frozen in midfall. It makes for a bizarre, miraculous, almost macabre sight, catching the imagination of every soldier that marches through Albert.
‘The Hanging Virgin,’ I say. ‘She’s become a sort of mascot for the Tommies of the Somme. They’ve even created a legend about her.’
Danny uses his hand to shade his eyes. ‘Let me guess: when she falls, the war will end.’
I stare at him. ‘That’s right. How did you—?’
He turns to me, his face full of mischief. ‘The bloke who rented me the bikes told me.’
I laugh and swat him again with my cap.
‘So, are we heading off or what?’ Danny asks.
I shake my head. ‘No need for you to accompany me. Get yourself to this villa and I’ll see you later.’
‘Can’t do that,’ Danny says, puffing out his cheeks and pushing off. ‘What kind of squire doesn’t ride out alongside his master?’
I smile and, planting my feet on the pedal, start after him.
Threading through the wreckage of the town, we leave Albert and its fateful statue behind and plunge onto the main road that leads, with Roman straightness, towards the Front. As we cycle, I point ahead to the iron-grey horizon.
‘Keep following this road and it’ll lead you right across No Man’s Land all the way to Bapaume,’ I tell him. ‘That’s the Hun’s version of Albert, about a dozen miles away on their side. This road is like the central axis for our part in the war. When the real fighting starts here, this will be at the heart of it.’
Danny nods sombrely. ‘A dozen miles of ground for how many lives?’
I turn my bicycle south, away from the bleak landscape and guide us slowly into the gentle wooded valley of Bécourt. Although this tiny hamlet is largely dead ground for the Germans, it has still been found by their artillery, trees blasted to stumps, houses reduced to atoms. Even the old chateau that contains many battalion headquarters has not escaped unscathed. Pocked with holes, the long carriageway leading up to the house sports a wonky wooden sign daubed with the words PICCADILLY CIRCUS. Danny and I park our bikes beside the sign and stride over to where a soldier stands guard at the main door.
‘Must have been a swanky gaff once upon a time.’ Danny whistles, his gaze playing over the ivy-choked façade. ‘Now it looks like it’s waiting for a prince to come and wake it with a kiss.’
I smile. ‘Quite the Romantic.’
He smiles back in a way that makes my heart skip. ‘I have my moments.’
We climb the steps and the guard salutes. ‘I’m here to see Captain Gordon Hunter Jackson,’ I say. ‘Could he be informed that Second Lieutenant Wraxall waits without.’
‘Without what?’ Danny laughs when the guard disappears into the building.
I sigh. ‘Official time now, Private. We’re about to meet our new CO.’
Danny snaps out his own salute. ‘Sir!’
Eventually the guard reappears. ‘Captain Jackson will see you in G Room, sir. The library, that is. He asked me to inform you that Captain Beddowes is with him and that they are both looking forward to your report concerning certain recent events.’
19
It hurts my heart to see the chateau’s once-grand library. Taking a glancing blow from a German shell, the ceiling has been patched with bits and pieces of scavenged timber. Walls of towering bookshelves now stand empty, only a few surviving volumes stacked haphazardly in a corner. Still there is the smell of books in the air, rich and dusty, a ghost scent to haunt what is now the battalion’s intelligence HQ.
As we enter, two men look up from a large desk positioned in the centre of the room, every inch of it covered in maps and photographs. Captain Beddowes can’t help but hitch one of his smarmy smiles. But then as his gaze passes to my right, his eyes flicker and something like fear replaces his former smugness. I glance at Danny and see the stamp of rage on his features.
‘Steady,’ I murmur.
He blinks in response.
