‘Must have been sent before she got the news,’ Danny murmurs. ‘Poor woman.’
Silence settles over the men. Those small treasures despatched by loved ones that had given such joy a moment ago now lie around them, forgotten. They stare at the parcel, no doubt thinking of the boy left behind in Authuille. The first of them to fall. Will similar belated gifts arrive forthemone day, carefully wrapped and addressed by mothers who never dreamed that they might outlive their sons?
‘You can open it,’ I say. ‘Share out whatever she’s sent him. I’ll write to her and wire some money if there’s anything valuable.’
‘But, sir, it’s...’ Taffy shakes his head. ‘It’s Ollie’s.’
‘And he’d want his friends to enjoy it. I’m sure Mrs Murray would feel the same. And after all, there’s no point sending her back stale cakes and biscuits.’
The words come out a little harsher than I’d intended and Danny blinks at me. It’s just, at that moment, I’d thought of Michael’s mother. I know she sent him treats almost every other day. He’d joked about it in his letters:Mam bakes like an angel, that’s what my captain says. It makes me popular among the lads, anyway.
Slowly, Taffy unties the string and starts unpacking Mrs Murray’s final gift to her boy: a tin of Fry’s chocolate, half a dozen currant cakes, a copy ofThe Union Jackmagazine with heroic detective Sexton Blake on the cover, a fresh pair of socks. The other men take their share, nibbling a corner of chocolate like it’s the hardest tack biscuit they’ve ever tasted.
‘All right then, you miserable lot,’ Taffy says, coughing the hoarseness out of his voice. ‘Don’t munch on that stuff like it’s ashes in your mouth. Ollie’s mum will have saved up a long time to send him those treats.’
Percy wipes his eyes and grins. ‘He was a soft sod, was Ollie. He told me on the boat over that his old mum thought her currant cakes were the best in the village. He only used to eat them to keep her sweet. Said they was as hard as hobnails.’
Taffy nods, his teeth clamped around an example of Mrs Murray’s baking. ‘The bugger was right ’n’ all.’
We all burst out laughing.
And then a familiar voice cuts us dead. ‘What a cheery scene. It warms the heart, doesn’t it, sir? Men with time to sit around and enjoy a joke, while there’s a war going on.’
There’s a bustle of bodies, a straightening of uniforms, a rustle of paper as letters and packages are tidied away. Then each of us execute a salute to welcome our unexpected guests. Lieutenant-Colonel Gallagher moves warily across the duckboards, Captain Beddowes a step or two behind. The captain looks around himself with obvious disgust, as if we had deliberately constructed this maze of mud to offend him. Gallagher at least pretends to be at home, slapping a meaty palm against a dirt wall before dusting off his hands.
‘At ease, men. At ease.’
At that moment, Captain Jackson emerges from our dugout, a razor in his hand, his jaw soapy. Beddowes curls his lip. ‘Rather late in the day to be grooming yourself, isn’t it? What kind of operation are you running here, Jackson?’
Gallagher glares at his adjutant. ‘Never interrogate an officer in front of his men, Beddowes? Apologise at once.’
Jackson waves his hand while Beddowes turns bright crimson. ‘No need, Colonel. Fact of the matter is, I took a turn at watch last night and only got to bed an hour ago. I’m sure Captain Beddowes understands.’
The Toad sneers at the Snake, apparently forgetting his own rule about not berating fellow officers in front of the men. ‘I wouldn’t bet on it. All Beddowes knows about this war is which café behind the line serves the best Chateau Lafite. Ain’t that right?’
‘As you say, sir,’ Beddowes agrees meekly.
‘I do say it,’ Gallagher grunts. ‘But back to business. Thought it was about time we had a nosey around. Inspection and all that.’
‘Your prerogative, Colonel,’ Jackson nods. ‘If you’d just give me a moment, the men and I will be at your disposal.’
That almost provokes a bitter smile but I manage to keep a straight face. We are very literally at the colonel’s disposal. In fact, in nine days’ time, many of the men here will almost certainly be disposed of, more than likely in bits and pieces strewn across that patch of No Man’s Land immediately above us. Unless Danny and I can take this opportunity to try to limit the casualties. While Gallagher, Beddowes and Jackson pass from soldier to soldier, inspecting rifles, uniforms, kitbags and living quarters, I ask Danny to fetch my writing case containing the copies of our reconnaissance reports from my dugout. I then join our visitors as they arch their nostrils over a selection of boots.
‘Not as shiny as I’d like,’ Gallagher complains.
‘Indeed, sir,’ Jackson says. ‘It is difficult to keep parade ground standards when half the time we’re knee-deep in mud, but we do our best. Perhaps if Captain Beddowes could give us a bit of notice next time, I’d try to ensure the place was in better order.’
That hilarious little moustache quivers with irritation. ‘You should always keep yourselves in readiness for an inspection, Captain.’
‘Quite right, Beddowes,’ Jackson agrees. Then, under his breath, ‘And I ought to have known you might be paying us a visit, what with our sector being so quiet lately.’
This time I can’t hide my smile. The top brass only ever venture out to the Front if there’s been a long lull in the fighting.
‘What’s that?’ Gallagher looks up from the boot presented to him by a nervous Taffy. ‘Don’t start muttering like an old woman, Jackson, I get enough of that from my staff officers. Got something to say, say it full-throated, that’s the British way.’
I step forward. ‘In that case, sir, might Private McCormick and I have a confidential word?’
The Toad blinks at me from under a slab of warty forehead. ‘Ah, Wraxall. Hero of the trenches? I recognise that ear.’ He reaches out and snatches Beddowes’ swagger stick from under his arm, waving the nub at the side of my face. ‘Or rather, I recognise what’s left of it.’ Beddowes titters while the colonel barks out a laugh that isn’t shared by the men around him. Oblivious to their disapproval, he continues, ‘A word, eh? By all means.’
