For All The World: Cullen's Celtic Cabaret - Book 1 by Jean Grainger

Author:Jean Grainger [Grainger, Jean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gold Harp Media
Published: 2023-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

OCTOBER 1917

PETER

The orderly brought a forty-eight-hour retreat pass for Peter and Nick from Major Billingsley, with instructions to fall back to the rest area that Friday and put on another show at the Aigle d’Or. Apparently the major and his fellow officers thought the Tommies needed cheering up ahead of the serious fighting that was coming, and Marine had last week run off with a deserter, which was causing problems all round.

It was the chance Peter had been waiting for.

‘What about Enzo and Two-Soups? We c-c-c-can’t leave them,’ Nick said, worried. The dugout had been repaired now, and the three of them, and Two-Soups, were back living together.

Peter, Nick and Enzo and the Scotsman had become very close. Peter, being a runner, was gone most of the day, but the other three were often on the same team, delivering supplies, filling sandbags, pumping the base of the trench to rid it of water. Endless hours of boring back-breaking work in between manic periods of terror when the Hun attacked.

‘Yeah, you’re right, we can’t.’ Peter nodded.

‘Nothin’ to do with me, mate. Take it up with Major Billingsley if you’ve got a problem.’ The orderly left.

‘D-d-do you think the major might let them c-c-c-come if we asked him nicely?’ said Nick. ‘I mean, I’d feel better if they were in the audience. Those English T-T-T-Tommies can be a bit intimidating.’

‘Hmm. Leave it with me,’ Peter said.

The following evening, after a long day running messages up and down four different communication trenches, he stopped off at Captain Edgeworth’s dugout with a small bottle of Calvados, a local apple brandy, which he’d spotted in one of the better-stocked dugouts earlier that week; he’d traded two bars of Cadbury chocolate May had sent for it. The captain’s wife’s brother was a doctor in the United States, so she was good for sending over high-quality American medical supplies.

He found Edgeworth polishing his rifle. As captain he could have had one of his subordinates do it, but the boredom in between the bouts of chaos were so hard to endure, and everyone had to have something to do to fill in the time. Normally an upbeat sort of man, these days Edgeworth looked pale and haunted. He’d been rattled badly last week when his brother was killed by a mortar in front of him, and Peter had heard he was waking, screaming a lot. There was a very noticeable tremor in his hands. Another man might have tried to get home on sick leave, but the captain wasn’t like that. He was very straight and ‘stiff upper lip’.

‘How’s it goin’, Captain?’ Peter asked. The formality of the army was lax in the front line with most officers, and Edgeworth had a reputation among his men for being a decent fellow.

‘All right. Have you a message?’ The captain answered in a dull monotone, a far cry from his usual cheery tones. He was balding and wore a thin moustache.

‘No, sir, I do not, sir, but I did bring you this?’ He pulled the naggin-sized bottle from his tunic.

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