The first days in France were spent training. Albert spent a lot of time having his ears battered by the Barney’s-bull bellow of the big, bruising bully of a sergeant. The lad ran up and down the camp training ground. His bayonet was fixed to the barrel of his gun as the troop took it in turns to stab at straw-stuffed dummies.
‘Stick it in as far as it will go… twist it… pull it out,’ Sergeant Carter shouted.
As they rested with a tin mug of bitter tea, Albert turned to Charlie. ‘You were in the last war, in South Africa.’
Charlie’s back went straight. ‘I was. Out in the heat of South Africa. Not like this freezing mud. We was fighting for old Queen Victoria in them days. Till she died, of course. Then we was fighting for King Edward.’
‘But did you stick your bayonet into many men?’ Albert pressed. ‘I mean… I can stick it in a dummy. But a real man, that’s different.’
Charlie chewed on a piece of tobacco. ‘No, son. These days you can’t go charging at your enemy with bayonets. Not even back in Queen Victoria’s day. I never stabbed anyone. They shoot you before you get to fifty yards. With the machine guns them Germans have, they’d wipe us all out before we got over their barbed wire. No, son, bayonets aren’t a lot of use in this war.’
Albert nodded. ‘So why are we practising with them?’
‘Because that’s what the officers want. Have you ever played chess?’
‘You want to play chess?’ asked Albert. ‘Now?’
Charlie sighed. ‘I’m just saying, do you know what chess is?’
‘Of course I do, Charlie. I’m not daft. I went to school till I was thirteen.’
‘You move your men around a chess board, right? Well, our General French has a big board like that. He has two armies – the First and Second Armies. And our friends in France and so on have their own armies. And the generals move us around like pawns on a chess board, see?’
‘And the Germans do the same?’
‘Exactly.’ Charlie nodded.
Albert stamped his feet to warm them on the cold, hard earth of the parade ground. Everything was grey and brown. The sky was the colour of a coal-miner’s bath water but not so warm. There was a steady rumble like thunder as the big guns on each side sent their shells down like steel hailstones.
‘When do we join this game then, Charlie?’ he asked.
Charlie looked up at the sky where the flashes from the guns lit the low clouds. ‘We’re not far from the fighting, son. We’ll be there this time next week.’
Albert nodded slowly. ‘That’s Christmas in the trenches for us, then?’
Charlie blew out his cheeks. ‘Christmas? In a war Christmas Day is the same as any other day.’
But for once Charlie Embleton was wrong.