CHAPTER 2
"Over the top"
"There yer go Hughie, that's you all done up, it'll protect your vitals," said Paddy. With a jerk he finished strapping the short digging spade to Hugh's chest. A piercing roar followed immediately by an explosion caused them and the men around them to bury their heads into their necks, mud and soil splattered down into their trench.
"You didn't need to duck little feller!" joked Paddy as he clapped his friend on the shoulder.
"That's their first one today," said Hugh, "The Hun are keeping their heads down." The artillery bombardment that screamed over their heads to plough into the German trenches was tremendous. Behind the enemy lines they could see a large mud-covered hill, AHill 17!@ the colonel had called it, AIt will be quite easy, after our bombardment Fritz won't be interested in fighting, you'll be able to just stroll over there and seize our objective.@
The force of the explosion had dislodged a rough wooden sign, it teetered above a dugout then tumbled down into the mud at the bottom of the trench. The whitewashed words COPPERFIELD STREET CRUSADERS slowly dissolved into the grime and dirt.
"They'll be okay won't they Pad, they're are all such good lads," said Hugh.
"You be worrying about yerself now Hughie, they're all big enough to take care of themselves." The same bad omen had been seen by the other men, they paused in their last minute preparations, hurriedly scribbled letters to their wives and sweethearts were for the moment forgotten, restricted by battledress and greatcoats they shook hands or hugged each other.
"We'd better be getting these monkeys ready," said Paddy as he began to carefully unwrap the rags and strapping which protected his rifle from the mud. Hugh copied him, the blast and roar above their heads increased so that he had to put his mouth directly over the bigger man's ear to make himself heard.
"Soon be our turn!" he yelled.
"You stay right behind me little feller," shouted Paddy back into his ear, "I'm a lot bigger than that there shovel."
Hugh said something he had wanted to say for a long time, AThanks for looking after me Pad."
The bigger man just grinned. "'ere lad, let's be looking after those poor feet of yours." He took off his backpack and dropped its dead-weight onto the mud. "Come on," he pulled Hugh next to him, their weight forced the pack down into the sucking sludge but their feet stayed clear of its grasp.
"You'll be getting yourself in trouble Paddy," said Hugh but grateful to get his sodden feet clear of the mire.
"If those there fellers are too important not to stand in the filth then so are we." Paddy inclined his head towards the officers standing together on a rickety wooden duck-board.
"I don't know why they can't all be like Captain Sherston," said Hugh indicating a man who stood apart from his brother officers, knee-deep in the filth.
"Poetry ain't got no place here but he's a fine man I'll grant you that."
Feeling their gaze upon him the officer looked up from the small pad he was writing upon and smiled at the two friends, he took the time to scratch at the lice gnawing away under his armpit, then returned to his notes.
The hours of waiting passed slowly; the shell fire continued without cease, overhead a bi-plane droned past spotting for the artillery, the very shells the pilot sought to direct onto their targets caused vacuums around the plane sending it dipping and dropping alarmingly, AWouldn't fancy his job eh Hughie?@ said Paddy putting an arm around Hugh, he was dozing on his feet with his head resting on his friend's shoulder. There they stood thoughout that long, hot summer morning, Hugh slept through most of the deep, booming bombardment, it was the shrill blast of whistles which was to bring him back to harsh reality.
"Micawber Street and Nickleby Street are to go first," Paddy informed him.
Shrieking madly above the noise and confusion, the whistles signalled the first wave of attack. "Over you go!" yelled an officer who stood high on a parapet half-way up the trench wall. He motioned them upwards with his Browning pistol, a couple of coat-hooks were missing from his hand but he still had the use of his trigger and middle finger.
To cheers from the men who stood jam-packed together in the trench bottom the first wave climbed from safety into no-man's land.
"Get the Hun! Give them one for us!"
One joker shouted, "Remember the Alamo!"
The shouts of encouragement were drowned by the bomb-blasts which battered above their heads. Two of the men were blasted back into the trench as if flattened by an unseen hand. It was well for those who waited that they could not see the carnage that was taking place.
A blasted wasteland, covered in mud-filled craters and splattered tree stumps was the killing-field. Water-cooled machine guns stuttered out their tunes of death as men ran into the enfilading fire, behind their fallen comrades they crouched, seeking protection as necklaces of death spattered through the mud trying to fasten onto their lives.
Fear sent the thoughts of the waiting men scurrying home to their loved ones.
"Come on girl, let's get you over to Mrs Murtagh," said Mrs Fegan. She looped her arms around Liz's waist and, assisted by her own bulk, lifted her off the sofa.
"Come on, dry those eyes, you'll see, everything's going to be just fine."
She half-carried the younger woman down the lobby, into the street and crossed over to Mrs Murtagh's house.
"Mrs Murtagh!" she screeched. The door was opened by Mrs Murtagh, her hair was tightly wrapped round wooden clothes pegs, she was wearing a flowery workcoat. Instantly seeing what the situation was she said, "In you come girl," against words of protest Mrs Fegan heaved her in.
The front door opened straight into the living room.
"Sit yourself down you poor girl, what are you getting yourself so upset over. Mind your back there Mrs Fegan," said Mrs Murtagh as she helped the fat woman lower her burden into an armchair.
Mrs Fegan stood cradling the younger woman to her big belly. "A cup of tea Mrs Murtagh," she said mouthing the words in her exaggerated sort of way and emphasising the word cup. Mrs Murtagh nodded in understanding.
"I'd just put the kettle on," she said disappearing into the kitchen.
"Have you heard anything from your Paddy," Mrs Fegan called over the sound of the singing kettle, "is he alright?"
"That good for nothing so-and-so," said Mrs Murtagh as she returned carrying a cup of tea, "out there enjoying himself," but the expression on her face told a different tale. "There you go Mrs Mac, get it down yer, you'll feel a lot better for it."
The two old crones watched closely as the younger woman drank the tea.
"There's a good girl, just leave that little bit in the bottom."
Liz no longer sobbed but the tears still streamed down her face, several drops landed in the dregs of the cup. Mrs Fegan gave a questioning look, Mrs Murtagh answered, "That's fine, every little helps. Right, turn your cup three times to the left like this," she showed the movement. "That's a good girl," she turned to Mrs Fegan, "get us a saucer love."
"'ang on a mo'," said Mrs Fegan as she waddled rapidly into the tiny kitchen and returned carrying a saucer.
"Right, tip your cup upside down onto this," Mrs Murtagh held out the saucer. "That's fine." She passed it back to Mrs Fegan, on it was a steaming mess of tea-leaves. Mrs Fegan carried the saucer back into the kitchen whilst Mrs Murtagh peered into the drained cup. "This is what we're after, it's a bright cup! Thank God for that, he'll be fine girl, look here Mrs Fegan, see how bright this is," she said showing her.
"There yer are, I told you didn't I," said Mrs Fegan vindicated, "anything else Mrs Murtagh?"
"Let's have a closer look should we."
Liz had cheered up, she watched attentively as the old woman squinted at the thinly spread tea-leaves which clung to the inside of the cup.
"Umm, yes, umm, yes," she repeated, nodding her head, "oh it's a clear cup, it's a clear cup."
Mrs Fegan was wriggling in anticipation but knew better than to interrupt the reading. Mrs Mu
rtagh was spending a long time with this one, she watched the look of concentration as more and more secrets were teased from the leaves.
Mrs Murtagh's blob nose was almost stuck inside the cup, her wart rubbed along the rim. The moment in which her look of concentration gave way to a look of worry was seen by Liz.
"Will he be alright," she asked quickly, suddenly afraid.
"He'll come home to you girl, he'll come home, you mark my words," said Mrs Murtagh.
"Oh thank God," she said in an anguished but relieved voice.
"Come on then Mrs Murtagh, show us what you've seen," said Mrs Fegan.
"Pass us a pin."
Mrs Fegan extracted one of the spikes which appeared to have dealt effectively with her hat
"See down there, down in the bottom, see those deep lines set into the leaves," said Mrs Murtagh tracing round the images with the pin.
"Yes I see them," said Liz. Mrs Fegan bobbed around behind them trying to get a better look.
"That's the trenches our boys are in," said Mrs Murtagh, "see up there, higher up the cup, look there he is, your little Hughie. He's higher than the trench so he's out of it. Look, can you see him?"
Liz shook her head. Mrs Fegan couldn't see him either but said that she could.
"'ere look," said Mrs Murtagh, tracing round the outline.
"Yes! Now I can see him, I see him," cried Liz, "he's walking round, he's alive and well but what's he doing out of the trench? Isn't that dangerous, will he be alright Mrs Murtagh?" she begged.
"The cup shows everything girl, everything near and everything far, it'd show us...." her voice trailed off slightly as she spoke.
"Anything else Mrs Murtagh," said Mrs Fegan sensing that she needed some help.
"No everything's going to be fine..for him," she replied getting up and sounding as cheery as she could, she walked off into the kitchen, "Biscuits anyone?"
Mrs Fegan sat with the plate resting on her belly, it made a little table of its own. One after another the biscuits were polished off and swilled down with cup after cup of tea. When the last biscuit was left she politely enquired, "Anybody want that one?" the other women did not dare to deprive her, it went the same way as the rest of them. For some time they sat, each lost in their own reveries until the silence was broken by the shout of a rag-and-bone man.
"ENNY OLD RAGS, SCRAP OR IRON!" he shouted walking up the back alleyway, the sound of his cart and the worn-out hooves of his broken down horse followed on behind.
Woken from their day-dreams Mrs Fegan raised her head and looked outside, "There's your Davey, home from band-practice, come on, let's be getting you home love," she gestured Mrs Murtagh to help.
Outside the sun was sinking low, the cathedral cast its long dark shadow upon them as they crossed the street.
Davey greeted them, "Hello Mrs Murtagh, Mrs Fegan," but seeing they way they were both supporting his mother he added, "everything alright?"
"She's been a little upset lad," said Mrs Murtagh, "but she's going to be fine now, aren't you girl?"
"Yes, don't be worrying about me Davey," said Liz in a faraway voice.
Mrs Fegan put a brawny arm around her waist, "Come on, up the wooden hill." Although the younger woman protested they bundled her up the tiny stairway and forced her into bed.
"Now you lie there my love and stay there," insisted Mrs Fegan, "I'll see to Davey, you get some rest."
"Poor dear's dog-tired," said Mrs Murtagh. The way Liz's eyes closed told them that sleep would not be long in coming. They crept back down the narrow stairs but the steep bend half-way up was far more difficult to negotiate going down.
"Here lad, give us a hand," whispered Mrs Fegan to Davey. He sprang up and steadied her hands as she tottered down, her stumpy heels ripping into the oil-cloth. "Thanks lad. She'll be fine now, don't you fret," said Mrs Fegan, "call round in an hour and I'll give you a bit of dinner."
"Thanks Mrs Fegan," said Davey his mouth watering at the thought of one of Mrs Fegan's sized meals.
The two old ladies retraced their steps, the damp evening air had made the cobbles slippery so that Mrs Fegan linked her friend's arm for support. A solitary blackbird piping the dusk sent a shiver down Mrs Murtagh's back, Mrs Fegan felt the shiver through her hand. Safely back in the living room she asked, "Well what did you see Muriel? Come on I know sommat's the matter."
"It's...I'm not sure...I need a closer look, light the lamp Peggy." She took hold of the cup then sat staring into its dried remains.