The Somme - That First Day

'Naw, please. Ma Maw’s frae Edinburgh,'screamed the cowering bundle beneath Martin’s bayonet.

         'What the fuck!'

         'Stick um, bluidy stick um,' shouted Brodie.

         'He’s wan o’ ours, Brodie man,' said Martin. 'He said he wis fae Edinburgh.'

         'I am, honest.' The German rose to his feet, both arms above his head. Brodie brought the butt of his rifle down on the man’s skull.

         'Right, well you carry him back,' he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of their own lines.   It could never be truly dark this close to mid-summer.  Down in the depression below the ridge at Thiepval, shadows blurred the edges, and plunging, indistinct progress made the reconnaissance a nightmare.

The small village of Authuille  belonged to neither side, a salient in the long, combative line of the Ancre valley.   It was a conduit through which reciprocal patrols moved;given an importance far beyond its strategic worth.  It was why the Rifles were here. To prepare the way for the forthcoming offensive; to ensure safe passage of  the conduit.  Brodie, Martin and the Gourlay brothers fell back toward the rest of the platoon, waiting with Aird at the lower end of the village.  Out of the darkness the scud, scud, scud of a German heavy machine-gun made them rush for cover.   They made the comparative safety of a slit trench in front of a small cluster of houses. as a high flare  turned night to day.   Martin landed heavily on the unconscious German.

'I'm coming in.' It was Douglas, running courier. And then he slid down the back wall of the  trench.  'Aird wants you to set up here Brodie.'   The black highlander merged with the night. Lost in the darkness. Martin smiled, reflecting on  how much of Douglas's veneer had been scraped away by their association.   Douglas and the two Gourlays exchanged curt nods.  The groaning then caught everyone's attention.

' I think ye've broke ma airm.'

 'Who on earth is that?'  said Douglas.   Brodie hauled the man across the trench.

' It's jist some German fae Edinburgh,'  Martin shrugged. 'Wid ye credit that?'   The man strove to break the Corporal's grip on his jacket front.

' Right you, oot with it' Brodie's face was inches from his, noses almost brushing.

' I'm frae Fountainbridge.   This is my faither's idea,' he said pointing at his chest. He gave a tight smile. 'He's the German,  no me and no ma mither.   A wis a milk-boy wae the Co-op before aw this, for Christ's Sake!'

 'Well your luck's in noo. You're a prisoner: they'll  send ye back hame.' Martin  smiled at his own  suggestion.

 'Don't be sae daft. He's a German sodger.   If they find out he's Scottish, they'll fuckin' shoot him.'   Davy Gourlay handed the prisoner a lighted cigarette.  

 'What's yer name then? Fritz?' The two brothers rolled about laughing.

 'It's Bobby. Bobby Hiesler. And this isnae fuckin' funny.'

'It's aw right Bobby. Brodie can sort it oot,' said Martin. 'Ye will, won't ye Brodie? Ye cannae let them shoot him, no when he's one o' us.'

 'Calm doon and watch your front There's a lot of his pals out there.' Brodie took a position at  the front of the trench. still with half an ear to the conversation between the two young Scotsmen.   Ten minutes later he turned his head and spoke.

 'Bobby When we get the order to withdraw, you stay here. Your own people will find you.'

' Thanks Brodie. I'll no forget this.'

 'Your a good man, Brodie.' said Martin his voice gone high.

 'And Bobby,' he said, once more looking over his shoulder. 'If we meet again, there's no second  chances.'   Silence fell on the trench. Everyone turned toward the noise of battle all around.

 Thirty minutes before dawn and Brodie did a last round of the rifles. They were all tense, expectant, ready for the word to fall back. Brodie gave the word and the section scrambled up  the rear of the trench. One by one they shook the prisoner's shoulder. The gesture of good luck.  Stay safe.  Brodie left the trench before Martin who was huddled close in conversation with Bobby. Going over the ledge, he leant back and dragged.his pal up after him.  The Edinburgh man peered after his countrymen, now moving in single file along the side of the hamlet.

'Martin, Martin.' Crouched behind a boulder, Martin turned to his new friend.  'We'll have to meet. Efter the war.' Martin saw him in  stark silhouette. He opened his mouth to shout a warning. His mouth closed with an audible snap as he saw Bobby's chest rip apart under the impact of the heavy calibre bullet.

 

Way over on the left, high on the ridge, a tall fountain of earth was thrown into the sky.   The following explosion was deafening, a fissure  opening in the earth's surface. Billy felt small as he followed the billowing cloud, before it tumbled back to earth.

'It's too early,' said Brodie. He appeared to have spoken to himself. He shook the watch at his wrist then looked again.  'Seven Twenty; it's ten minutes too soon. The Germans will know our boys are coming.'   A section of Northumberland Fusiliers trotted across the front of the Rifles.

'What are they saying?' asked Eck.

'They're a scouting patrol. They say the wire is still in one piece,' snarled Brodie.  'The bloody bombardment hasnae worked.'  The air filled with the sound of whistles.  All along the line they could see the first wave rise from cover. Within a hundred  feet the advance slowed as the men started the stiff climb to the ridge.

'Poor bastards. How can we ask men to climb up there?' Billy watched in morbid fascination.  Douglas spoke the Lord's Prayer, the whispered plea carrying across the shallow trench. Eck wept. Already they could see the gaps torn in the line of flesh and blood.

'Seven minutes. It's taken just seven minutes,' Martin slid down the trench and started lighting cigarettes for them all. Brodie checked his watch and nodded. The remains of the first wave had faltered to a standstill.

'They're gunning them down for sport, the bastards.' Jimmy Hughes dropped his eyes to the foot of the trench, embarrassed by his role as onlooker.

'Oh My God,'said Davy drawing heavily on his fag. And the second wave rose from the earth.

The silence in the trench was profound and palpable.  0830, and all three assault waves were gone.

'We've got to dae something.  We hiv tae help them.'  Eck screamed  at the sky.   The rifles were galvanised; like leashed dogs.

' Sir? Sir?' said Brodie. Aird stared straight ahead, head rigid, eyes darting in all directions.

'Alastair.'   Jimmy Drummond jogged along the trench.  'Let's get the company up on the line.' Aird  gazed in incomprehension.  'We've got to give those poor lads something to fall back behind. Now stir yourself.'  Almost before he finished the Rifles were above the trench-line.  As they moved over the broken ground beyond the front-line trench, more and more piles of  bodies lay scattered around. Young men. Men who looked like they might have been good fun in life.   No smiles here though. No sick jokes. No queue jumpers. Just young men robbed of dignity, robbed of life.  Poorly served by older men who should know better. Eck cried on, unchecked. Martin kicked the lifeless, grey earth: feeling useless. The dada-dat, dada-dat of the German guns sounded hot and tired as they slowly subsided. Gusts of wind whipped up sudden whorls of dust; and the wire hummed low-key.

Smoke shifted in banks of brown, grey end black, and shadowy figures emerged; old men caught  sleeping by the fire-side.   One of these ancients, a Fusilier by his badge, walked in ponderous fashion toward Billy.   He held  his rifle at the high port, bayonet fixed, no flicker of recognition on his face or in his eyes. Billy put out his arm to halt him. Immediately the bayonet was swung level with Billy's chest.

'Watch him, for Christ's Sake. He'll stick ye.'  Brodie moved toward his friend,  catching the Fusilier's attention. Billy Morison drew back the butt of  his weapon and aimed it at the stranger's head.  Dropping to his knees, he jettisoned his rifle and cringed neath Billy's weapon.

'Away the Lads you should have seen them gannin ...'  Open-mouthed, Billy stopped his downward thrust.

'What the fuck's he dae'in?' shouted Davy.

'The Blaydon Races. It's a Geordie song. He's singing,' said Billy, a catch in his voice.   The singing stopped. Like a pebble in a still pool, the man's manic laughter filled the awkward silence.  Others emerged from the smoke as if drawn by the eerie sound. All eighteen to twenty  year olds like the kneeling Fusilier, aged forty years in as many minutes.   A wrenching sob convulsed the young Geordie, soon overcome by his grief. The Rifles looked away.

'It's awright,' said Eck. His crying stopped, he dropped to his knees and took the Englishman in his arms.   'It's finished,' he whispered.   The survivors gathered around the two youngsters. The cries of the wounded rose in that howling  silence; and in that twenty three mile angle above the Somme, sixty thousand casualties lay on the torn earth.

'Get these men back behind the lines,' shouted Captain Drummond, nodding in approval as the  highlanders took the old men by the arm.

'It'll never finish,'  whispered the Fusilier, his eyes fixed on young Eck.

Twice more the Rifles stood out front. Rab Niven paced behind, piping out a rallying call.  The remnants of two further assault waves ghosted past, comforted by the sight of  the compact line of kilted soldiers.  In premature dusk, the Rifles fell back. No one else would appear through the smoke.  The smoke that stung their tired eyes. Eyes that watered and spilled down grimy cheeks.

Billy felt guilty. Hot food had arrived. He spooned it steadily down, feeling the bully beef and potatoes  spread warm and comforting through his belly.  He met the gaze of his pals, saw his guilt mirrored in their eyes. Alan dropped his spoon into the metal dixie.

'How can we sit here eating? Even now I can't believe what happened oot there. 'He lunged across the gap, dipping his tin cup into the rum ration. He swallowed down the whole cup, tiny rivulets of liquor running through the dirt below his chin.

'Has anybody wondered why the hot grub is so plentiful the night?' asked Martin. 'They aren't normally this good tae us.'