and we walked quickly along the side of the train. The troops appeared to have filled every carriage to the point of bursting open the doors and windows.
‘Just along here, sir. Much more comfortable than what you was putting up with back there. And the other gentleman’s already waiting for you.’
We came to the carriage at the back of the train, a box car with only two or three small windows. The lance-corporal led me up some narrow wooden steps, urging me to hurry. I was still trying to push my case up in front of me when I felt the train lurch and we began moving.
The carriage was the guard’s van: a large space with a caged storage area, and a multitude of flags and lanterns for use by
le chef de train.
It was warm in there, lit by lanterns. Sitting alone on a wooden chair inside the caged area was my friend Bert. He was upright but relaxed. He had folded both his hands over a walking cane and his chin was resting on those. A second chair had been placed next to his.
The lance-corporal politely saw me into the cage, put down my bags and made sure I would be comfortable. The train was already gathering a little speed, and knowing that there was no corridor I was growing worried for the able young man. Unconcerned, he showed me a cabinet where there was a flagon of fresh water and some glasses, two long loaves of French bread wrapped in white tissue paper, some cheese and a bottle of red wine. ‘I think the bread might be a little dry now, sir, but probably tasty enough.’ Indeed, it all looked extremely appetizing.
Not a moment too soon the lance-corporal bade me goodnight, and said he would look out for me and the captain when the train reached Béthune. As he began to clamber down the steps I could see the platform moving by. Then, as if his departure were a signal, the train stopped suddenly with a great squealing of brakes.
While this was going on Bert had roused. He was sitting fully upright, regarding me with his eyes blinking. We greeted each other.
‘So pleased you made it here,’ Bert said. ‘I was beginning to think you had gone on another train.’
I told him what had happened, then, because my stomach was rumbling, I said, ‘Would you care for some bread and water?’
‘Since we have been put inside a cage, it’s an appropriate choice of food.’ He crinkled his blue eyes in an amused way and we both went across to the cabinet. ‘But perhaps instead of water, a little wine?’
‘Yes indeed!’
We broke the bread, took a chunk of cheese each and filled two glasses from the wine bottle. We resumed our seats.
‘Did I hear the lance-corporal say you are a captain?’
‘Most certainly. I wouldn’t abandon my home and family, and suffer a French train, for anything less. You too? I see you are a Navy man.’
He was glancing at my uniform.
‘Not a captain. A lieutenant-commander.’
‘Aren’t you going a rather long way inland to join your ship?’
‘It’s a land-based installation, I believe.’ Again I felt the weight of necessary silence on me, so I prevaricated. ‘It was all a little unclear. You are in the army, I see?’
‘That’s right.’ He crunched on the bread, spilling large brown flakes of the crust on the carriage floor. ‘I insisted on being a general, thinking I could be negotiated down to colonel, but they would not go above captain. It’s more than a little ridiculous, in my view, but then the whole blessed war is ridiculous. I tried to tell them that two years ago, when it all got going.’
‘I don’t suppose the young men we’re travelling with think it’s ridiculous.’
‘That’s right. They’re just boys – the eternal tragedy of war and those who become its warriors. I’ve two boys of my own. Thankfully, they’re still at school, so with any luck they’ll be spared the appalling mess in France and Belgium. Have you any idea what the young men on this train are going to have to go through? Or how many of them will not be going home
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