Upon French Fields (105th Wessex Foot. The Prince of Wales Own. Book 6) by Martin McDowell & Martin McDowell

Author:Martin McDowell & Martin McDowell [McDowell, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: FeedARead.com Publishing
Published: 2021-12-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Winter Quarters

Once again, Miles’ irritable nature had got the better of him as he allowed his armsful of freshly cut posts to tumble to the ground.

“Now you tell me again, just what this is, what we’n buildin’, an’ gettin’ our hands all cut up for?”

John Byford allowed the head of his axe to fall to the ground alongside his right boot, the handle remaining loose in his hand.

“Well, Thomas, it’s called an ‘abbattis’, an abbattis! If you saw it written it would look like abbattiss, but it’s pronounced abbattee. Put two ‘ees’ on the end. It’s a French word.”

Miles managed to grumble a reply.

“Well, that’s not any kind of word you hears where I comes from.”

Saunders was working behind.

“Nor likely to, in between all the shouts of here comes the rent man or the Bristol Runners chasin’ you to feel your collar!”

Miles managed a deep frown in Saunders’ direction, but he was more concerned with what they were working on.

“Well, as I sees it, that’s just a fancy word for a dirty great fence, an’ for what, I says? B’ain’t nothing I knows could jump summat this high. Could be half the height, stretch further and be a damn sight less work!”

John Davey was busy packing hazel branches in between the tripod supports.

“I think the point, Tom, is that it has to be high enough so’s a frog can’t jump over!”

Laughter rang along the line as they all continued with the task. It had fallen to Anson’s Brigade to build the extensive barrier, a mile long, from the bank of the Nive to the higher ground on which stood Bassussary, this a significant ridge. All Anson’s men were now engaged in felling trees and creating tripods by roping three lengths of tree-trunk together, then using whatever heavy brushwood was available to fill in the gaps and create an impenetrable barrier across the wide stretch of lowland. However, besides the work and the terminology, that subject was now exhausted and Tom Miles had another issue on his mind.

“I don’t much take to they 27th!”

Saunders spoke again, as he hauled a heavy tripod into place, then kicked outwards the three uprights to keep it vertical.

“You don’t? So stay out of their way.”

“Not easy, when we’m all up on the slopes, choppin’ down trees.”

“And just how have they upset your delicate self?”

“Well, ‘tis obvious! Tinkers an’ diddykites the lot of ‘em! Always cadgin’ drink an’ tobacco an’ not one piece of coin comes back your way. Or tryin’ to sell you some piece of rubbish or buy somethin’ from you at half its worth. Bad as they 88th! Well nearly, at least these b’ain’t trying to drag us into some scheme, nor moanin’ that we’ve took more than our fair share of French pickin’s. Not so bad as they! Least!”

“Then count your blessings, Thomas, you’re still free of your favourite 88th.”

John Davey stood up from thrusting home the last available bundle of branches and thorn bushes, then unwinding the protective rags from his hands.

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