Captain Forsythe called the troops onto the parade ground the next day. ‘Stand easy men,’ he began. The soldiers relaxed but looked grim. They knew what was coming.
‘Tomorrow you move ten miles forward. You men will be the reserve line. The chaps at the front in the trenches are ready for a break. The day after tomorrow you will take their place. Half of you will be the front line and the other half the rear line. You’ll swap over every twelve hours.’
Captain Forsythe was young – maybe just twenty years old – and had the shining pink face of a schoolboy.
‘You may write postcards home tonight,’ he said.
‘That’ll be in case we don’t come back,’ Charlie muttered out of the side of his mouth.
‘But you must not say where you are. A German spy may read your message and discover our plans.’ The young officer tried to look like a stern school prefect. ‘This is top secret stuff. Any questions?’
Albert’s hand shot in the air as if he were in the classroom. ‘Please sir,’ he said.
‘Yes?’
‘Will we be attacking with bayonets or rifles or machine guns?’
Captain Forsythe looked unsure. ‘I don’t think you’ll be attacking at all.’
‘So why are we going?’ another soldier asked.
‘Because those are our orders,’ the officer said, blushing a little.
‘Yes, sir,’ Charlie put in, ‘but I think he means, why do we have those orders?’
Captain Forsythe cleared his throat.
‘The Germans are the attackers. We have dug lines of trenches, hundreds of miles of them. The trenches are filled with British and French troops like us. Our job is to stop them getting any further. If we aren’t there then the Germans will take over the whole of France. Their next stop would be Britain. Your children will be speaking German if you men don’t do your jobs.’
‘So we defend?’ Charlie said.
‘Unless orders come for us to attack,’ Captain Forsythe said.
He gave a shrug. ‘For now, defend. Stay in your trench. If you see a German, shoot him.’
‘If he doesn’t shoot us first,’ someone muttered and the men laughed.
‘Well, keep your heads down,’ the Captain said.
‘Ah,’ Charlie said, ‘but if we keep our heads down, we won’t be able to see the enemy. They could run across from their trenches and jump into ours. How can we shoot the Germans if we can’t stick our heads up and look for them?’
‘Look out from time to time,’ Captain Forsythe shouted, his pink face now turning red. ‘Lift your eyes over the top.’
‘What about if the German shoots me in the eye?’ The men laughed louder.
Captain Forsythe carried a short wooden stick. He rapped it against his leg, then pointed it at Charlie Embleton. ‘Sergeant Carter.’
‘Yes, sir?’ the sergeant said smartly.
‘Put that man on a charge. Have him cleaning the toilets from now until we march to the trenches.’
The sergeant’s grin split his face and showed his yellow, tobacco-stained teeth. ‘It’ll be a pleasure, sir.’
Charlie Embleton sighed and began to sing, as softly as sister Susie’s shirts, ‘If the sergeant steals your rum, never mind.’