Secret Sparrow by Jackie French

Author:Jackie French
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-10-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE, NOVEMBER 1917

The first person she saw when she left the dug-out was Lieutenant Seabrook, speaking quietly to one of the sentries who lined the trench, bayonets at the ready, several with periscopes to peer above the protecting walls.

‘Water for a wash?’ Lieutenant Seabrook managed a smile for her. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

He was waiting when she came out of ‘her’ dug-out, holding a basin of water of pale brown water. ‘I’ve f-filtered it through my handkerchief four times,’ he said proudly. ‘But don’t drink it,’ he added quickly.

‘Don’t worry about that! Thank you.’ She smiled back at him, noticing how his hands trembled as he held the basin. ‘You’re very kind.’

He seemed to stand straighter. ‘It’s a p-pleasure, Miss McLain.’

She wondered where to wash. She would like to take her time, but didn’t want to be away from the headphones in case the line became active again. ‘Would you mind, er, standing outside the dug-out while I wash? That way I can keep an ear open for any sound from the headphones.’

‘Of course. Give me a call when you’ve finished.’

It was strange washing with headphones on. The water had even been warmed, or at least slightly deiced. She decided she trusted Lieutenant Seabrook to keep the dug-out guarded sufficiently for her to use her handkerchief to wash down as far as possible, and up as far as possible, remembering the old joke: what had poor ‘possible’ done to be left out?

She also managed to squash several fat lice, but had a feeling there were many more to be found. If life got boring with rats, Morse code, shelling and the imminent advance, she thought, she could spend the time squashing lice. Men back in Rouen had called lice-hunting ‘chatting’ — a handy occupation for spare time.

She felt better for the wash, and the sleep. Already she was almost used to the shelling. There seemed a pattern to it — several vast explosions, then a period of quiet, then another burst.

At last, she pulled back the curtain again, and handed the water to Lieutenant Seabrook. ‘Thank you. The water was lovely. Will you come back in, or do you have something else to do till the line is mended?’

‘The major ordered me to stay with you. It’s no hardship.’ He seemed to relax even further as he came in and sat down. Of course, a dug-out was safer than the trench outside, she realised, with less chance of being hit by flying bits of shrapnel if a shell burst nearby. Even if their trench collapsed, they stood a good chance of not being buried if the roof above them held. They might even survive if the roof collapsed if they managed to shelter under the table. She suspected, once again, that simply talking to a girl brought a hint of normality into the relentless life of the trenches.

She gave Lieutenant Seabrook a quick glance while she straightened her notepaper. The shadows were deep under his eyes.

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