and after the battle, the lull
Nov. 15th, 2012 02:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smackenzieBy nightfall they've succeeded in taking the woods and can conduct their prisoners back behind the line and collect their dead. Davies goes back to look for the NCO he fell on, but can't find him. Stretcher bearers must have picked him up, or he managed to make his way back to the casualty clearing station, or even just a dressing station, on his own feet. Either way, he's not dead. Davies takes this as a good sign.
The Germans continue to shell the battalion, although the heavy fighting seems to shift north and west. They stay in the front-line trench another couple of days, contending with the shelling and the mud and, after it rains, some flooding down the trenches. They deal with rats and occasional reminders to change their socks and let their feet and boots dry out whenever possible – "With all this rain, not bloody likely," Powell mutters – and of course, the constant threat of mortars and shells and the possibility that the Germans will gather themselves together and hit back.
Davies is surprised that by the time the battalion is relieved, he's almost gotten used to the never-ending noise of the shells. They don't keep him awake as much as they did in the beginning.
It's back to the support trench – still muddy, still flooded, still rat-infested, still in potential danger from long-distance German artillery, but at least a little farther back from the front – and then to the reserves and then, surprisingly, to rest and billets several miles behind the line.
They receive more training there, evidently in preparation for another offensive. Sergeant Campbell doesn't know when or where, just that the 18 Div will be called up again for more than just guarding the front line.
"We'll get Jerry yet, boys," he says encouragingly, cheerful despite their losses. Back at billets, Davies has heard from other men in other battalions that there are places along the front where the dead practically carpet the ground, and the shelling from the German line is so bad that no one can go out and get the corpses so they can be given decent burials. He thinks about Gorin and wonders whether or not someone fetched his body back from No Man's Land, and where he's buried now. Davies knows that the bodies of the dead don't necessarily go back home. Most of them are buried in France.
It's a depressing thing to think about, not just that he might get killed, but that he might be buried here. He's never given a lot of thought to dying – he's young yet, strong and healthy, and aside from his time at the front, he doesn't live a particularly dangerous life – and he doesn't especially want to start now, but it's hard not to think about it when it's all around you.
At least he doesn't have to sleep in a muddy trench any more, and he doesn't have to worry about waking up in six inches of cold water, or having to spend his days shoring up old trenches, helping to dig new ones, and laying duckboards where the water is too deep to walk in. He gets regular meals, usually hot. He's sleeping in a tent, and even though he has to share it with Powell and Tisdale (who snores like someone trying to saw through bricks), it's dry and rat-free.
And at billets, they don't have to wear their helmets all the time. Regulations are still strict, but at least the men can wear proper hats like normal people.
And their mail isn't in danger of being blown up or dropped in the mud. The postal service can get men their mail even on the front-line. Davies doesn't know about any mail carriers who were struck by shells trying to deliver the mail, but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen.
His parents aren't great letter-writers – his mum's letters tend to be short and gossipy and infrequent, and the most his dad might do is add a few lines at the end of hers – the elder Davies left school at ten to work, and is sometimes embarrassed about his spelling and his penmanship – but his half-sisters send him long, rambly letters that seem to take several days to finish.
Well, Ada is working and Caroline is in school and helps their mum around the house, and they're both sociable girls who like to be with their friends in their free time, so it isn't too surprising that neither of them has (or wants to take) the time to compose a letter start to finish in one sitting.
Today Davies just has a letter from Ada, and the two different colors of ink (black and brown) indicate that it only took her two days. She tells him about the house where she works as a maid, and that there's a new maid who has to be told everything four times, and she overheard the mistress of the house complaining that the war has made it difficult to get good help, and she wants to get a job at the munitions factory on the Thames, because the wages are better.
Besides, I don't like the way Dickie, the young master I'm supposed to call him, looks at me. I try to stay out of his way when he's home but he likes to get in my way so I have to clean around him because I can't ask him to move. Mrs Braithwaite would tell me off for sure and I think she would garnish my wages if she thought I was giving Dickie any lip. Mum says to watch out for him and boys like him but I can't if he's always in my way now can I? So I think the munitions factory would be better. The girls turn yellow but I think that would be better than Dickie Braithwaite catching me in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Mum doesn't think so but she doesn't like that Dickie is looking at me either.
Caro just sighs dramatically and tells me how hard it must be to be pretty. She should talk, she has boys after her all the time. Dad is threatening to take a stick to the lot of them. She wants to get a job too but she's too young for the factory which Mum says is a good thing. She doesn't want both of her daughters turning yellow. But Caro could go into service, I said, she can have my job. Not with randy young men in that house, said Mum. If it was anyone else I'd think she was being over-protective but you'd have words with him too, wouldn't you, if he tried anything. He wouldn't try anything if you were home to put the fear into him and I would just love to see his face when you did it.
Billy Armitage from down the street, you remember he lied and said he was really nineteen so he could enlist, he was wounded in Palestine and Mrs Armitage says he's coming home. His brother wants to join up too but he's only fourteen and looks it so I don't think you'll be seeing him yet. Mum says she's not worried about you getting hurt, she says you're cleverer than Billy Armitage. I don't think clever has anything to do with getting shot but if it keeps you safe then I say that Mum is right and you're much cleverer than Billy Armitage.
Dominic Woods, do you remember him? His dad owns the hat shop just down from the cafe where your old girl Mary Neale works. She says her man is a sergeant at the front but no one believes her. I never liked her, I'm glad she isn't chasing you any more. Dominic tried to volunteer but he has asthma and started wheezing right there during his exam, it was so bad they thought he would faint. They wouldn't take him but he's doing allright in his dad's shop. He wants to court me, isn't that funny? He even tried to ask Dad but Dad said no, Dad doesn't like him. I don't know why, he's a perfectly nice boy. He took me to the cinema on a Sunday and kept his hands to himself the whole time. I don't know if I like him or if I do how much but I don't not like him, do you know what I mean? He only took me out the one time so we will see what happens.
Caro will write you her own letter. She is hanging over my shoulder right now telling me what to say. I have told her to go away but she never listens to me. It has taken me two days to write this so I will close so I can send it so you can write back and tell me how you are. Is the fighting very bad? We hear all kinds of things from the papers and from other soldiers' letters home and I just want to know that you are ok. We are all still very proud of you.
All my love,
Ada
Bea Powell says to tell her brother to write to her.
"Hey." He nudges Powell who is sitting next to him. "Don't you write home?"
"Of course. Mum gets something from me every week."
"You should write your sister her own letter. I think she feels left out."
"What else does Ada say?" Powell asks, in a tone of voice that implies Davies' sister is a busybody and should mind her own business.
"Mary Neale is telling people she has a boyfriend at the front. A sergeant." Davies snorts, unsurprised and unimpressed. He and Mary were an item for a while about a year ago, but she was much more interested in him than he was in her, and she was desperate to get married and he wasn't, so they didn't stay together. He liked her well enough for the several months they were together – she was pretty and easy to be with and fun – but she started dropping too many broad hints about marriage and babies, and even though Davies broke it off, she kept insisting they were still together for three months after the fact.
And now she's telling people she has a sergeant at the front. Well, it could be possible. She did like men in uniform.
"I didn't like her," Powell says. "I'll write Bea if it will make her happy."
Five minutes later Sergeant Campbell comes by to tell them to form up for drills, so Davies slips Ada's letter inside his tunic and resolves to watch Powell to make sure he writes his own sister. He doesn't want to be even partly responsible for another man's sister's unhappiness, for no other reason than he doesn't want someone else to make his own sisters unhappy.
words: 1752
total words: 23,636
note: the women who worked in munitions factories in britain did turn yellow - they were called canaries - from the toxic chemicals they put in the explosives. apparently the money was good, tho, compared to whatever wages they could make doing non-war work.
The Germans continue to shell the battalion, although the heavy fighting seems to shift north and west. They stay in the front-line trench another couple of days, contending with the shelling and the mud and, after it rains, some flooding down the trenches. They deal with rats and occasional reminders to change their socks and let their feet and boots dry out whenever possible – "With all this rain, not bloody likely," Powell mutters – and of course, the constant threat of mortars and shells and the possibility that the Germans will gather themselves together and hit back.
Davies is surprised that by the time the battalion is relieved, he's almost gotten used to the never-ending noise of the shells. They don't keep him awake as much as they did in the beginning.
It's back to the support trench – still muddy, still flooded, still rat-infested, still in potential danger from long-distance German artillery, but at least a little farther back from the front – and then to the reserves and then, surprisingly, to rest and billets several miles behind the line.
They receive more training there, evidently in preparation for another offensive. Sergeant Campbell doesn't know when or where, just that the 18 Div will be called up again for more than just guarding the front line.
"We'll get Jerry yet, boys," he says encouragingly, cheerful despite their losses. Back at billets, Davies has heard from other men in other battalions that there are places along the front where the dead practically carpet the ground, and the shelling from the German line is so bad that no one can go out and get the corpses so they can be given decent burials. He thinks about Gorin and wonders whether or not someone fetched his body back from No Man's Land, and where he's buried now. Davies knows that the bodies of the dead don't necessarily go back home. Most of them are buried in France.
It's a depressing thing to think about, not just that he might get killed, but that he might be buried here. He's never given a lot of thought to dying – he's young yet, strong and healthy, and aside from his time at the front, he doesn't live a particularly dangerous life – and he doesn't especially want to start now, but it's hard not to think about it when it's all around you.
At least he doesn't have to sleep in a muddy trench any more, and he doesn't have to worry about waking up in six inches of cold water, or having to spend his days shoring up old trenches, helping to dig new ones, and laying duckboards where the water is too deep to walk in. He gets regular meals, usually hot. He's sleeping in a tent, and even though he has to share it with Powell and Tisdale (who snores like someone trying to saw through bricks), it's dry and rat-free.
And at billets, they don't have to wear their helmets all the time. Regulations are still strict, but at least the men can wear proper hats like normal people.
And their mail isn't in danger of being blown up or dropped in the mud. The postal service can get men their mail even on the front-line. Davies doesn't know about any mail carriers who were struck by shells trying to deliver the mail, but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen.
His parents aren't great letter-writers – his mum's letters tend to be short and gossipy and infrequent, and the most his dad might do is add a few lines at the end of hers – the elder Davies left school at ten to work, and is sometimes embarrassed about his spelling and his penmanship – but his half-sisters send him long, rambly letters that seem to take several days to finish.
Well, Ada is working and Caroline is in school and helps their mum around the house, and they're both sociable girls who like to be with their friends in their free time, so it isn't too surprising that neither of them has (or wants to take) the time to compose a letter start to finish in one sitting.
Today Davies just has a letter from Ada, and the two different colors of ink (black and brown) indicate that it only took her two days. She tells him about the house where she works as a maid, and that there's a new maid who has to be told everything four times, and she overheard the mistress of the house complaining that the war has made it difficult to get good help, and she wants to get a job at the munitions factory on the Thames, because the wages are better.
Besides, I don't like the way Dickie, the young master I'm supposed to call him, looks at me. I try to stay out of his way when he's home but he likes to get in my way so I have to clean around him because I can't ask him to move. Mrs Braithwaite would tell me off for sure and I think she would garnish my wages if she thought I was giving Dickie any lip. Mum says to watch out for him and boys like him but I can't if he's always in my way now can I? So I think the munitions factory would be better. The girls turn yellow but I think that would be better than Dickie Braithwaite catching me in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Mum doesn't think so but she doesn't like that Dickie is looking at me either.
Caro just sighs dramatically and tells me how hard it must be to be pretty. She should talk, she has boys after her all the time. Dad is threatening to take a stick to the lot of them. She wants to get a job too but she's too young for the factory which Mum says is a good thing. She doesn't want both of her daughters turning yellow. But Caro could go into service, I said, she can have my job. Not with randy young men in that house, said Mum. If it was anyone else I'd think she was being over-protective but you'd have words with him too, wouldn't you, if he tried anything. He wouldn't try anything if you were home to put the fear into him and I would just love to see his face when you did it.
Billy Armitage from down the street, you remember he lied and said he was really nineteen so he could enlist, he was wounded in Palestine and Mrs Armitage says he's coming home. His brother wants to join up too but he's only fourteen and looks it so I don't think you'll be seeing him yet. Mum says she's not worried about you getting hurt, she says you're cleverer than Billy Armitage. I don't think clever has anything to do with getting shot but if it keeps you safe then I say that Mum is right and you're much cleverer than Billy Armitage.
Dominic Woods, do you remember him? His dad owns the hat shop just down from the cafe where your old girl Mary Neale works. She says her man is a sergeant at the front but no one believes her. I never liked her, I'm glad she isn't chasing you any more. Dominic tried to volunteer but he has asthma and started wheezing right there during his exam, it was so bad they thought he would faint. They wouldn't take him but he's doing allright in his dad's shop. He wants to court me, isn't that funny? He even tried to ask Dad but Dad said no, Dad doesn't like him. I don't know why, he's a perfectly nice boy. He took me to the cinema on a Sunday and kept his hands to himself the whole time. I don't know if I like him or if I do how much but I don't not like him, do you know what I mean? He only took me out the one time so we will see what happens.
Caro will write you her own letter. She is hanging over my shoulder right now telling me what to say. I have told her to go away but she never listens to me. It has taken me two days to write this so I will close so I can send it so you can write back and tell me how you are. Is the fighting very bad? We hear all kinds of things from the papers and from other soldiers' letters home and I just want to know that you are ok. We are all still very proud of you.
All my love,
Ada
Bea Powell says to tell her brother to write to her.
"Hey." He nudges Powell who is sitting next to him. "Don't you write home?"
"Of course. Mum gets something from me every week."
"You should write your sister her own letter. I think she feels left out."
"What else does Ada say?" Powell asks, in a tone of voice that implies Davies' sister is a busybody and should mind her own business.
"Mary Neale is telling people she has a boyfriend at the front. A sergeant." Davies snorts, unsurprised and unimpressed. He and Mary were an item for a while about a year ago, but she was much more interested in him than he was in her, and she was desperate to get married and he wasn't, so they didn't stay together. He liked her well enough for the several months they were together – she was pretty and easy to be with and fun – but she started dropping too many broad hints about marriage and babies, and even though Davies broke it off, she kept insisting they were still together for three months after the fact.
And now she's telling people she has a sergeant at the front. Well, it could be possible. She did like men in uniform.
"I didn't like her," Powell says. "I'll write Bea if it will make her happy."
Five minutes later Sergeant Campbell comes by to tell them to form up for drills, so Davies slips Ada's letter inside his tunic and resolves to watch Powell to make sure he writes his own sister. He doesn't want to be even partly responsible for another man's sister's unhappiness, for no other reason than he doesn't want someone else to make his own sisters unhappy.
words: 1752
total words: 23,636
note: the women who worked in munitions factories in britain did turn yellow - they were called canaries - from the toxic chemicals they put in the explosives. apparently the money was good, tho, compared to whatever wages they could make doing non-war work.
