for me to grip if I place the wood under my armpit. With his help and encouragement, I stand up and try my weight on the crutch. It works well.
“Thank you,” I say. My leg hurts, but the bandage helps a lot and I can hobble about. I make my way down to Raleigh’s dugout and duck past the gas curtain. The room I enter is larger than I expected, although the usable space is cut down by the wood pillars that support the ceiling beams. The floor is covered with duckboards, but the walls are damp mud. To my left is a crude wooden bunk with an earthenware rum jar propped at one end. Ahead is a desk cluttered with maps and the stubs of candles. A small shelf above holds an oil lamp, a tin mug, several bottles and a copy of
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
. To my right is an alcove with a radio ona small table. Equipment, items of uniforms and assorted weapons hang from nails driven into the support pillars. It’s a far cry from the parlor in the chateau, with its fireplace and chandelier.
“Come in, come in. Have a seat.” Raleigh waves vaguely toward the desk. He’s leaning over the radio, talking into the mouthpiece. I prop my makeshift crutch against the wall and sit gingerly on a chair. When Raleigh finishes, he takes a second chair. “Well, there’s a lorry coming to pick you up at the dressing station, but you’ll need to walk that far, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll manage,” I say.
“They can check your wound at the dressing station and tell you where you need to go from there. Meanwhile, I’ll have Broughton make us some tea.”
As if on cue, Broughton ducks into the dugout carrying a tray with a teapot and two mugs on it.
“The man’s a wonder,” Raleigh says. “Always one step ahead of me.”
“Cup of tea never goes amiss, sir,” Broughton says, putting down the tray. “Sorry I couldn’t rustle up any milk.”
“That’s fine, Broughton. Thank you.”
While the tea’s being poured, I ask, “You’re the Newfoundland Regiment?”
“Indeed,” Raleigh confirms. “You’re familiar with that part of the world?”
“I’m Canadian,” I reply. “From Saskatchewan, but I know someone who was in the regiment—Alec Hamilton.”
“Ah, yes. He joined us after Egypt. Wanted to become pilot, I recall, but they sent him underground. He’s nearby, I’m told, working on the mine up the line.”
“I know. He visited when my squadron first arrived here.”
“Let’s hope what he’s doing helps.”
“The big attack’s coming soon?”
“Twenty-ninth of the month, I hear, but it’s supposed to be a secret. Word is, the artillery barrage beforehand will be the biggest of the war. With that and the mines, it’s supposed to be a breeze. All the infantry will have to do is walk over what’s left of the Hun trenches. I hope so. Fritz does seem to be well dug in over there.”
“Think it’ll end the war?”
“If it does, the Newfoundlanders will be a big part of it. We’re not in the first wave, but after the German lines are taken, we push through. I must say, it’ll be good to get out into open country. As you can see, life in these trenches is a little confining.”
“I was protecting some photo reconnaissance of Fritz’s rear area, Beaucourt-sur-l’Ancre, when I was hit.”
“That’s good. We’ll need those maps when we get going. Speaking of which, you should probably headoff if you’re going to meet that lorry. Broughton can show you the way. And I’ll send some boys through the wire tonight to salvage what we can from your plane. I imagine Fritz’s had a good few shots at it, but we should get the Lewis gun.”
“If I can ask a favor,” I say. “I have a medal, a blue cross, that I take up with me in the cockpit for luck. In my rush to get out, I forgot it. Could you ask whoever goes out to fetch it and send it on to the squadron?”
“Certainly. We need all the luck we can get out here.”
We both stand, shake hands and wish each other good fortune in the
“Thank you,” I say. My leg hurts, but the bandage helps a lot and I can hobble about. I make my way down to Raleigh’s dugout and duck past the gas curtain. The room I enter is larger than I expected, although the usable space is cut down by the wood pillars that support the ceiling beams. The floor is covered with duckboards, but the walls are damp mud. To my left is a crude wooden bunk with an earthenware rum jar propped at one end. Ahead is a desk cluttered with maps and the stubs of candles. A small shelf above holds an oil lamp, a tin mug, several bottles and a copy of
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
. To my right is an alcove with a radio ona small table. Equipment, items of uniforms and assorted weapons hang from nails driven into the support pillars. It’s a far cry from the parlor in the chateau, with its fireplace and chandelier.
“Come in, come in. Have a seat.” Raleigh waves vaguely toward the desk. He’s leaning over the radio, talking into the mouthpiece. I prop my makeshift crutch against the wall and sit gingerly on a chair. When Raleigh finishes, he takes a second chair. “Well, there’s a lorry coming to pick you up at the dressing station, but you’ll need to walk that far, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll manage,” I say.
“They can check your wound at the dressing station and tell you where you need to go from there. Meanwhile, I’ll have Broughton make us some tea.”
As if on cue, Broughton ducks into the dugout carrying a tray with a teapot and two mugs on it.
“The man’s a wonder,” Raleigh says. “Always one step ahead of me.”
“Cup of tea never goes amiss, sir,” Broughton says, putting down the tray. “Sorry I couldn’t rustle up any milk.”
“That’s fine, Broughton. Thank you.”
While the tea’s being poured, I ask, “You’re the Newfoundland Regiment?”
“Indeed,” Raleigh confirms. “You’re familiar with that part of the world?”
“I’m Canadian,” I reply. “From Saskatchewan, but I know someone who was in the regiment—Alec Hamilton.”
“Ah, yes. He joined us after Egypt. Wanted to become pilot, I recall, but they sent him underground. He’s nearby, I’m told, working on the mine up the line.”
“I know. He visited when my squadron first arrived here.”
“Let’s hope what he’s doing helps.”
“The big attack’s coming soon?”
“Twenty-ninth of the month, I hear, but it’s supposed to be a secret. Word is, the artillery barrage beforehand will be the biggest of the war. With that and the mines, it’s supposed to be a breeze. All the infantry will have to do is walk over what’s left of the Hun trenches. I hope so. Fritz does seem to be well dug in over there.”
“Think it’ll end the war?”
“If it does, the Newfoundlanders will be a big part of it. We’re not in the first wave, but after the German lines are taken, we push through. I must say, it’ll be good to get out into open country. As you can see, life in these trenches is a little confining.”
“I was protecting some photo reconnaissance of Fritz’s rear area, Beaucourt-sur-l’Ancre, when I was hit.”
“That’s good. We’ll need those maps when we get going. Speaking of which, you should probably headoff if you’re going to meet that lorry. Broughton can show you the way. And I’ll send some boys through the wire tonight to salvage what we can from your plane. I imagine Fritz’s had a good few shots at it, but we should get the Lewis gun.”
“If I can ask a favor,” I say. “I have a medal, a blue cross, that I take up with me in the cockpit for luck. In my rush to get out, I forgot it. Could you ask whoever goes out to fetch it and send it on to the squadron?”
“Certainly. We need all the luck we can get out here.”
We both stand, shake hands and wish each other good fortune in the
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