Many thanks for the accolades. You've all set the height of the bar here ahead of me. I'm just trying to keep up but I need to write faster since I'm falling farther behind.
Fullofit - The prospect of a conversation between Michael Palin's Pontius Pilate who can't say 'R' and Thomas Prewett who struggles with the letter 'L' boggles the mind for hilarity. In another life, maybe.
As for Oliver going mano et mano with Der Alte, Oliver, like Indiana Jones before him would likely lose that fight. Glad survival instincts took over and it didn't come to that.
Lou - with all this non-flying time now that Swanny finally has a squadron, will we see greater endeavors of building? Hint, Bray Dunes. 54 Sqn goes there in mid June.
Raine - I had to look up "Boys Own Paper." Ripping Yarns. It's what we do, or try to anyway. I fondly remember Ep1 of the Michael Palin series of the same name.
"Tomkinson's Schooldays"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXJRI8dzsEw&t=183sLooks like Oliver won the battle of the nurses this week. Unfortunate that Hans-Dieter is among the more serious kind of nursing sisters. Sounds like Hans-Dieter has reached the critical moment of his young life. Breaking the last shackles of upbringing and charting his own course. I still think you're juggling two pilots in 3 weeks
Maeran - Young Lindley has a new pal. Brilliant. On a past note, your suspicions about Nobby bringing
Cinquante-Quatre to 46 were spot on. I quote AGL's "No Parachute," from his Tuesday, June 26th, 1917 entry.
"The sing-song was livelier because Scott has brought with him a priceless book, properly bound and illustrated, of the songs sung by 54 Squadron. They had it done in Cambridge, and it's title is
Cinquante-quatre, which so far as we're concerned, means 'Forty-Six.'"
MFair - Ainsle is an officer now. I don't know the RFC equivalent for "Mustang" but there you have it. Apropos, in your case I think
looking forward to what happens next.
Carrick - Well done. Francois is finding his stride, both in the air and
avec les femmes. Given the magnetic attraction of every female in France for your pilots, when will we get a romantic AAR ?
3 May 1917I was practically out on my feet after the day’s ordeal and the game of Mills bomb baseball with the Hun patrol. They’d been hunting me the entire time and I never even knew they were there. My escape was a much closer shave than I’d thought. Sgt. Prewett offered me his canteen and I took a long drink. He walked me back to company HQ then sent for the medic who removed a thick chuck of wood the size of my pinkie and flushed the wound with antiseptic.
“That’s all?” I asked looking at the splinter. “It felt like a railroad spike. I’m sorry to haul you out of bed for this.”
“No worries, sir. You took quite a knock to the surrounding tissue. Could be a bit more splinter in there, sir. I’d have it checked at the Clearing station. We’ll get you down there at first light.”
After a full canteen of water and few hours sleep, I cleaned up, shaved, and met the Company CO, Captain Harold Pemberton. Over breakfast I told him what I’d seen in the German lines and tore out the page in my notebook, detailing the defensive positions. He was most interested in the specifics of my escape, especially the tunnel under the wire.
“Once the Huns retreated to the Hindenburg Line, they stopped patrolling past their own wire. This lot here are a different sort with a bit more initiative. Every night they raid up and down the lines. We thought they’d built a tunnel into No Man’s Land.”
“Sir, was that barrage your doing?” I asked. “It’s the reason I got away. They did cut it rather fine I must admit.”
“Not at first. I called it down to destroy the Sopwith. We didn’t see you until you’d cleared the wire. After that I had the battery continue firing longer a bit longer. Keep the Huns in their bunkers and give you a fighting chance. I congratulate you, Lieutenant. I didn’t think you’d make it across.”
"The Boche would have had me yet, sir, were it not for Sergeant Prewett. He brought me in, then we gave the Huns a fine send off. May I say that he is a force of nature, sir.”
“You may indeed, Lieutenant. You may indeed.”
Communications with Brigade were down. The line was cut somewhere but the Captain promised to get a message off to 54 as soon as possible. He left me in the company of Sgt Prewett who gave me a tour of the lines.”
The Gloucesters were magnificent. Everywhere I went along the line the men acted as If I were an old friend. I wondered at their enthusiasm. Had they all fattened their wallets betting on my survival? Prewett told me the reason.
“Wowsy 'uns been stawking about each night throwing bombs and raiding our trenches. We wost a few bwokes. Some bwasted, some with their throats cut. We been ‘unting these ‘uns for a week now. Patrowling out in the mud each night. Deviwish cwever, these Boche. Most ewusive. We could never catch ‘em untiw you came awong, sir. Fwushed ‘em into the open and then we bowled ‘em for a gowden duck, didn’t we, sir?
Duck. What duck? Oh dear, was this Cricket again?"Now we know about their ratholes…"
His face hardened suddenly; the beaming smile slipped away.
“I wiwl be trebwle-sinewed, hearted, breathed,
And fight mawiciouswy; for when mine hours
Were nice and wucky, men did ransom wives
Of me for jests; but now I'wl set my teeth
And send to darkness awl that stop me.”
“I have no doubt of that, Sergeant.”
Prewett said nothing. After a moment his great smile returned. He led me to a trench periscope and had me look once he’d focused it. I could see at least one body out near a dead tree. Last night’s work.
Late morning saw communications restored. I bade farewell to Captain Pemberton. A medic arrived to escort me to the advanced dressing station where I could get transport.
Prewett came to say goodbye.
“Good wuck, sir.”
“Thank you, again. It’s been a pleasure Sergeant Prewett. I hope we meet again one day.”
We shook hands. I gave him my RFC collar badge.
He smiled his huge smile and nodded. “Uniw that day, sir,” he said, then saluted and that was that.
I owed Thomas Prewett my life and in the normal course of things we’d be best mates for the rest of our days. I’d liked him immediately. He was a man I’d be proud to call friend, but chances were I'd never see him again. I hated the military necessity that separated us as officer and NCO. Was Capt Pemberton unusual allowing a Sergeant such latitude with a visiting Lieutenant? I didn’t know. There was a lot more nuance to being an officer than I’d realized. I had work to do.
Traffic crawled on crowded roads, most of it heading North. Another push? I didn’t reach 55 CCS and Peronne la chapelle until late afternoon. Eliza wasn’t there. She was gone on the train to base hospital with the critical cases. This was the final straw. A hideous three days then a chance to see her blown to bits. Just perfect! How could this get any worse? I was in a vile mood. After an interminable wait, the doctor examined me. A bit of wood remained stuck in my back after all, and he’d need to enlarge the opening to remove it and fully clean the wound. I wished he’d get on with it. I was exhausted and in desperate need of a bath and clean underclothes. Any reason I had for remaining here was on the ambulance train.
Sound. Light. I swam toward the surface of full conscious. She was there.
“I was dreaming about you, my beloved,” I murmured.
“I’m flattered, Lieutenant. I don’t hear those words nearly as often as I once did. Ludlow said that you loved truly. I see she now wasn’t wrong.”
I was fully awake at last. I lay in a hospital bed, its back angled like a deck chair. Before me was the Matron, she of the fearsome scowl on
Laconia, who appeared now a completely different person, her crone-like mien cast away like a traveler’s disguise. She looked taller, as if freed of some invisible burden and drawn up at last to her full height. Her youth was behind her but it’s fading hue still illuminated the features of a woman in the full beauty of her middle years. Graceful of carriage, the delicate curves of her slender figure were clearly visible despite the starched uniform. Green eyes twinkled in amusement and the remnant of a grin loitered at the corners of her mouth. In the twilight of the darkened ward the wall lamp threw firelight, and its glow lit the few streaks of grey in her raven hair, lending her the otherworldly majesty of a sorceress or queen of lost antiquity.
I tried to sit up, but she checked me.
“Easy now. You’ve led us a merry chase, my dear.”
“What…?”
“Bad reaction to the Benzocaine. Remember that for the future. You’ll be fine but you had us worried for a time.” She took my pulse and felt my forehead.
“Sit up now and let me see your dressing.”
Warm hands I barely felt cleaned and dressed the wound.
“Back to bed with you.”
She pulled the blanket up as I settled in. She reached over to extinguish the lamp and kissed me on the forehead. “Sleep now,” she whispered. The next thing I remember was morning.