‘I’m going mad,’ Sam confessed when Nicholas finally broached the subject of his health. Gunfire rattled in the distance as Sam returned the muddy cigarette they were sharing. ‘I can’t remember the last time I—’ An explosion landed a mile away, too far to cause them concern, yet Sam flinched as if it was near them. ‘When will it end?’ His face contorted in spasm. ‘God in Heaven stop this!’ he shouted angrily, slapping his own face. Nicholas grabbed his hand tightly to calm him. Sam took a deep breath and stared at their clenched hands as his body trembled. ‘I must look like an imbecile. I cannot c-c-control it. I cannot sleep. I keep hearing men crying, Nicky. C-c-crying for help. I don’t think I can take much more.’
November arrived and the division was finally taken off the frontline for a rest. Nicholas watched Sam carefully for any signs of improvement, as he was now a trembling wreck and could not hide it. He received no empathy from the Lieutenant, who called him a malingering coward. His words almost broke Sam, as it confirmed what he saw in his fellow soldiers’ eyes. Only Nicholas stood by him, often coming to his aid when the mutterings began. Sam continued to play the spirited Tommy to his mother and his girl back home. Pretending all was well, in a curious way, helped him for the few short moments he wrote his letters. It was all a lie, of course. Did any soldier tell the truth? thought Nicholas as he watched him write.
Sam’s wish to leave France was finally granted. Rumours began to circulate that they were being moved to Italy to stand in reserve for the Italian army. Soon the battalion were boarding two trains to begin a journey that would take them across France and northern Italy, stopping occasionally for tea, a wash and quarter of an hour of physical training on the platform of the chosen station. It was a pleasant journey and a far cry from the hell of the previous months. Sam rested for much of it, while Nicholas kept a careful eye on him and protected him from the raucous banter of a few of their fellow soldiers. Most, however, preferred to rest and enjoy the views, marvelling at the countryside that had remained largely unscarred. Large areas of flat fields gave way to rugged cliffs with small villages nestling in the valleys; a contrast to the mud, filth and shell-battered landscape they had come to know and despise so well.
They were warmly welcomed into Italy by the women of the area, who were glad to see British soldiers coming to support their troops. Their battalion finally arrived at their destination and held in reserve, waiting and ready to reinforce or counter-attack when called upon. Waiting, and the uncertainty that often accompanies it, had a peculiar stress of its own, and although Sam’s nervous disposition improved, Nicholas knew it remained barely beneath the surface. He had lost a lot of weight, eventually confiding in Nicholas when they were alone that the food tasted like sawdust mixed with blood. It was untrue, of course, but Sam’s delusion could not be shaken.
Christmas 1917, was a welcome change from the waiting. The morning was clear and frosty. The battalion was treated to a hearty breakfast of porridge, bacon, eggs, butter and jam. An open-air service followed, bringing a tear to many as they thought of home. Dinner was a surprise, kept secret until the moment it was served. Roast pork, beef and vegetables was the dish of the day, as it was rumoured that chicken was tooexpensive to source. Plum pudding and fruit followed, plus a bottle of beer and cigarettes for each soldier, which were all joyfully received. The soldiers followed the hearty meal with a football match, played in good spirits with the horrors of the war all but forgotten. A company concert ended the day, and Nicholas found himself laughing for the first time since he had joined the battalion. His gaze searched for his friend amongst the other laughing soldiers and finally found him smiling too. For the first time Nicholas felt a glimmer of hope that Sam was on the road to recovering from whatever was ailing him. All he needed was time away from the noise and stress of war.
The relative respite of Italy did not last. In April 1918, their battalion was hurriedly recalled to France. After much confusion, they were finally ordered to go to the frontline. It was as if they had not spent the last few months in Italy in reserve. The gunfire sapped any strength they had gained and placed them in the middle of Hell once again.
Sam spiralled downwards into a pit of nervous despair. His facial tic returned with vengeance, accompanied by his stammer. His face shadowed beyond his years and his tremors returned, at times becoming farcically uncontrollable. He was both a liability to himself and his fellow soldiers and no one knew it more than him. He hung his head in shame, unable to understand what was happening to him. Nicholas tried to reassure him that it was not his fault, but Sam had come to believe his fellow soldiers’ opinion of him, that he was a danger to the troops. Nicholas could not argue with him. He was. Nicholas went to his superiors twice and requested for him to be sent home. The request was refused on both occasions. ‘He needs to pull himself together,’ they told him. The army only recognised wounds of the flesh.
On the 12thof April, the frontline was broken by the enemy and Nicholas and Sam’s battalion was called upon to reform theline. It would be a difficult manoeuvre and many lives would be lost. It was just a matter of whose.
Nicholas attempted to reassure Sam instead by focusing on his health. ‘All you need is rest. You were improving in Italy. I will talk to the Sergeant when we are relieved.’
Sam shook his head as his fingers fumbled over his attempt to prepare his gun. ‘He thinks I’m making it up.’
‘He’s wrong.’ Nicholas forced his friend to look at him. ‘He’s wrong, Sam. Do you hear me?’ Emotionless eyes stared back at him that he would remember for the rest of his life.
‘I have this urge to ru-ru-ru-run, Nick,’ whispered Sam.
Nicholas’s eyes widened. ‘Hush!’ He glanced over his shoulder then back at Sam. ‘Don’t say that. You know what the penalty for deserting is?’
‘No one will know.’
‘You don’t know what you are saying.’ Nicholas let Sam go with a mild shove. He didn’t want to hear it. Best pretend he had not heard.
‘I do! I’ve thought of n-n-n-nothing else.’
‘Shut up. I’ll not see you up against the firing squad.’
‘You could be my witness and report my death.’ Sam grabbed Nicholas’s arm as he tried to move away. ‘Or I could leave something on someone’s b-b-b-body so they would think it was me. Half these bodies are but flesh and b-b-b-bone.’
‘Did you not hear me? They will shoot you. Now get ready. We will be off soon.’ His friend was being absurd. Best speak of it later when there were no ears around.
‘Better that than st-st-st-staying here.’
Nicholas twisted his arm from his friend’s grasp. ‘Sam . . . you are not thinking straight. Think of your mother. Think of Rose. They are waiting for you. If you want to leave so badly . . .’ he glanced around again. ‘. . . let me wound you. You won’t be the first to get injured on purpose in order to get sent back toBlighty. Tucker shot his own foot. I saw him do it.’ An explosion landed near them. They ducked as a shower of earth and debris pummelled their helmets and bodies with the familiarity of an old tormenter. Orders came to be ready.
‘Look at me. I am a wreck. My face tics like an imbecile. I cannot even hold my gun for shaking.’ Sam stared at his gun. ‘I am n-n-n-nothing to be proud of. I am no man. I am just walking bones.’
‘Your mother and Rose will mend you,’ argued Nicholas under his breath as he dug in a foothold ready to leave.
‘I don’t want them to have to mend me!’
‘It is the madness of war that is speaking. Get ready. We will talk later.’
‘If they think I died they will believe I died a hero, not a jabbering w-w-w-wreck that s-s-s-s-stammers.’ Sam smacked his own face in frustration as he fought to get the words out. ‘Perhaps that is what I should do, stand up and let the Hun get me.’
Nicholas saw Sam’s eyes brighten at the idea. He was willing to die to escape his demons. How low he had sunk? It was in that moment, Nicholas finally acknowledged the depths of Sam’s plight. He had tried to support him these past months, but in truth he was in denial himself. He was no better than the lieutenant and sergeant who had refused to believe in his ailments. He had not been the friend Sam needed as he had not fought hard enough for him. Sam needed to get out of here and he would help him do it by his silence.
‘I would rather you were running for your life than on a stretcher for the dead.’ Sam lifted his gaze to meet his. ‘What will you do?’
‘Lay low. Use a new name. G-g-get well.’
‘You will let me know how you get on?’
